


Black Magic

by BlueBerryOatmeal



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Dreams and Nightmares, Human Bill Cipher, Insomnia, M/M, Magic Bill Cipher, Magic Dipper Pines, Near Death Experiences, Non-Consensual Touching, Obsessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Soft Boy Dipper, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags May Change, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Relationships, Urban Fantasy, Witchcraft, Witches, alluding to sex, better safe than sorry, bit of a whump, reckless behaviour, summer job, unhealthy codependence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 57,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25204858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueBerryOatmeal/pseuds/BlueBerryOatmeal
Summary: The summer before the big transition to college, Dipper and Mabel are sent to Gravity Falls to work at their Uncle's shop. At first Dipper felt his summer would be nothing for boring, humiliating retail work. That is, until he meets a very strange man in town. A man who Dipper quickly finds himself dangerously infatuated by.Witch AU! Tags will change with chapter updates to prevent spoilers.
Relationships: Bill Cipher/Dipper Pines
Comments: 46
Kudos: 198





	1. Chapter 1

The summer had barely begun and it was already unreasonably hot. The type of heat that lingered, thick and heavy with humidity. Even the air conditioning, which was partially broken and leaked from the vents in thin breaths of moist air, couldn't make a dent in the stale fog of the charter bus. With windows that didn't open and still a few hours still to go, there was no escape from the suffocating heat. Or the smell of old sweat, mixed with body spray and air freshener in an attempt to smother it. Dipper turned his head towards the window once more. His eyes were closed as he pressed his forehead tiredly against the hot glass.

He sunk low in his bus seat, knees wide apart and hands lazily resting in his lap. With each bump in the road his knees knocked against the hard seat back of the row in front of him. It had long ago stopped hurting. The bench seating were cramped and uncomfortable, with cushions that were stained and worn thin. The retro abstract pattern was faded to a gross desaturated blur of triangles and stripes. Dipper's posture was forcibly crooked, bowed and bent to accommodate his long and lanky legs. For a while now he had been half laying across the double seat as a way to find a comfortable position. However, it had proved useless. He had admitted defeat and let his legs go numb from poor circulation, uncaring about the odd tingling sensation shooting up his ankle.

He tried to relax as he was. Bright blobs of light moved beyond closed eyelids. A kaleidoscope of shadows mixed with oranges and blue, shifting as the sun passed behind trees and clouds. The earbuds he wore provided a low volume of music to help take his mind off the drive, some variety of soft rock. It would have been relaxing, almost was, except for when Dipper exhaled and his breath caught against the glass, creating a hot fog and reintroducing him to the smell of his own lunch. Dipper groaned internally, hating the long trip more with each passing hour.

The bus sped along the empty highway taking them to the middle of bum fuck no where. The tires hit deep potholes and sent the whole bus rocking on its old, worn suspension. Dipper's forehead struck the glass with a thud. He scrunched his eyes closed tightly, sighing around the pain that shot through his skull. He mouthed a sound of surprised and rolled his head away from the window. Just what he needed now, a headache.

He didn't even want to be on this trip to begin with. It had been entirely his parent's idea, as usual. Instead of letting their two newly graduated children enjoy the summer hanging out with friends, taking in the few short months of freedom at home, they had gotten it into their heads that what Dipper and his sister Mabel really needed was work experience. God forbid they ease into the transition between high school and college with fun and low stress. No, they needed to be sent on a pre-college trip out into the backwaters of Oregon. So, with a bit of an argument, the two were packed up and shipped out on the first bus available.

Dipper let a small groan pass his lips from the frustrating situation. It had been years since they spent a summer with their great uncles in Oregon. They had been kids. And other than the rare birthday card, they didn't exactly stay in contact. Dipper felt as though he was being sent to live with complete strangers.

He shifted away from the window. Dipper grabbed the discarded yellow hoodie from the seat beside him. It had been cooler in the early morning hours when their trip began. He balled up the fabric and shoved it behind his neck as a makeshift pillow. It was more lumpy than comfortable.

While Dipper wasn't looking forward to spending his summer in some reclusive town, he believed his parents had some ulterior motive fore sending him. He just couldn't figure out what exactly those motive could be. He fidgeted, starting to nervously pick at the seam of his baseball shirt. His nails caught and frayed the navy blue threading along the hem line. Bits of string tore and snapped under his blunt fingernails. It was a bad habit he developed forever ago. A wonderful addition to his other impulsive habits of incessant chewing on things, be it his nails, pencils, etc. This just left all his shirts with little holes that he'd picked apart. It was so commonplace now that no one cared that his clothes all looked like moths had gotten to them. His mother had long given up on harassing him for it, and it was almost odd to see Dipper in anything without rips and holes.

It was possible that this trip was his parents way of forcing Dipper out of his shell somewhat. He had never been overly confident or sociable, choosing to remain private about his feelings and behaviour. He was an introverted kid, spent his time with only a few close friends or shied away from groups entirely. This was a dramatic contract to his twin sister who was loud, vocal about her thoughts and was strongly independent from a young age.

His mother would condescendingly pat his head of curly brown hair and tell him that he was a sensitive boy and a late bloomer. Whatever that was suppose to mean, Dipper had to wonder. He didn't particularly consider himself to be _sensitive_. Pessimistic and anti-social yes, but hardly sensitive. That implied weak in some way or broken. Dipper didn't want to have that kind of connotation attached to his name. Dipper shifted in his seat again, rearranging his legs, unable to sit still for too long.

Nervously he abandoned the frayed hem of his shirt to start chewing on his thumbnail. He watched the thick lines of trees racing by the window. They were definitely far from the main highway now. He wasn't sensitive, Dipper told himself.

He caught himself chewing his nail again. Frustrated, he dropped his hands to the seat. He didn't want to be trapped on this bus any longer.

He thought about where they were heading again, Gravity Falls. For summer employment, he scoffed.

As far as towns went only a few hundred people lived there permanently, their uncles includes. So, if you were looking for much to occupy your time, there wouldn't be much. However, Gravity Falls was nothing short of a tourist trap town, and being such, came with quite the reputation. Set far back in the woods and out of touch with modern political correctness, Gravity Falls stood like a beacon of parody. A small kitschy town filled with exclusively themed shops and attractions to try and pull in guests from the highway. It was almost insulting. Occult themed restaurants, supernatural bookstores, and fabricated historical sights to fill in the space. Why anyone would go there was a real mystery.

Being a witch wasn't something to exploit like that. They weren't some cartoony cult or sideshow attraction. Dipper wanted no part in it. But there he was, being sent to work the summer away selling charms and spell pouches that didn't work. No way of getting out of it now, less the bus were to crash. Dipper crossed his arms tight over his chest.

Magic ran in his family in varying quality. Mabel was amazing at crafting charms and dabbled with crystals. His mother read dreams and astrology.

And while they were told his uncles were witches, Dipper had his doubts. It wasn't hard to believe. He just had such few memories of them which made it hard to recall what their outlets were based in, potions, herbs, or maybe charms since they ran a store. Dipper supposed he would find out soon enough.

He watched the trees pass by, squinting a little in the sun. It was making him tired again. Like a cat that's found a sun spot, he wanted to curl up and take a nap. He stretched a little and settled back into his balled up sweater.

Out of no where a violent shiver ran down his spine, startling Dipper awake from his tired and groggy state of mind. He sat up quickly, feeling every muscle in his body tighten. Blood rushed to his head leaving him both dizzy and disoriented, yet aware of every minute detail to the following seconds. It was an odd sensation, like being doused in cold water on a hot day. His heart started to race, pounding in his chest with reckless abandon. Dipper took in a sharp breath and blinked.

But just as it came, the feeling was gone...

Cool sweat was collecting between his shoulder blades and the encased heat of the bus sunk back into his lungs like a weight. Abruptly floored by the wave of unease taking hold of him, Dipper pulled the headphones out of his ears. He stared wide eyed straight ahead but found nothing foreboding or ominous about the mostly empty rows of bus seats. There were no bad omens on the horizon that he could recognize. Dipper tried to calm his breathing from the cantered pant that shook his shoulders.

Perhaps it was just a coincidence.

A small black blur moved passed the bare edge of his peripheral and Dipper jumped around in his seat, eyes chasing after whatever it was. Yet, nothing was there. All he found was a few more empty seats and his sister, bent over in her own corner.

Dipper dropped back onto the seat. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a shaking hand. His unruly bangs wanted to cling to his skin and get in his eyes, the heat weighting down his curls. He swore softly under his breath, feeling a little paranoid. There was no need. Everything was perfectly normal, he told himself as he wet his lips.

Looking up again, Dipper watched Mabel from across the aisle, focusing on something familiar and calming. She was busying herself over the long trip by working on some crafts. She looked to be off in her own little world, bent over a pile of cord and crystals.

Dipper took a long, slow breath. Maybe the heat was finally getting to him and he just needed some fresh air. After all, it was hard to be trapped in a sardine can for hours on end with nothing more than a little leg room. He was probably just feeling tired and claustrophobic. Dipper pushed his things aside before getting up. He pulled himself from the bench and moved across the aisle toward his twin.

Slinking onto the empty seats in front of her, Dipper turned to perk against the backrest, arms bent over one another so he could rest his chin. He watched her fiddle with a knot before speaking up.

“Hey, Mabel, do you know if we're almost there?” Dipper asked.

Her head shot up. For a moment there was a surprised stare on her face, like Dipper had woken her up from some sort of trance or manifested out of the ether. However, with a quick blink, she got over it and smiled wide and cheerfully. Mabel checked the time on a colourful watch she was wearing around her wrist and hummed, counting in her head as the second hand ticked slowly by.

“Uh... yeah. Maybe, like, an hour? We're suppose to be there by five,” she said.

“Okay...” Dipper sighed, disappointed that they were still an hour away, at least. For all they knew it could be longer. He pouted a little. Dipper pushed off the seat, about ready to slip back across the aisle to his headphones but felt the nag of lonely boredom. He flopped across the seat instead, watching her work. He huffed and sighed dramatically to get her attention.

Mabel barely payed him half a mind, probably not even a quarter of that attention. She lowered her head back down and returned to tightening a corded knot around a piece of crystal. Dipper tilted his head to the side and waited for her to be done, but it was taking so long. He reached out with a hand and lightly started poking at her, gently at first until she didn't swat his hand away.

“What are you making?” he asked, finger wrapping around a lock of her long hair and tugged.

“I'm making necklaces,” she said, as if it wasn't obvious.

Dipper grunted low in his throat, accepting her reply. He let his chin rest on the back of the chair.

Mabel was really good at making something from seemingly nothing. With just a few bits and bobs, some string and a rock became a charm of some kind. Her favourites were loved spells and good luck charms. He was sure she was working away on something along those lines now.

In her lap was a raw chunk of rose quarts, wrapped in a net of cord. She attached a long silver chain to the end and it was done. Simple, for one of Mabel's creations. It lacked so many strands of feathers and beads. She smiled though and quickly looped the long chain up and over Dipper's head. The necklace dangled over the chair and swung about as the bus bounced.

Dipper raised an eyebrow, which was hard to see from under his curly bangs. “What's this for? Wealth? Protection against daemons?” he teased. “No, wait, I know. You're cursing me.”

Mabel swatted at his face with her finger tips. “I should just because you said that.”

“Sorry, thanks.” Dipper sat up and picked up the crystal. He gave it a close examination under his untrained eye. It was a gentle pink with whiter edges where the stone had been cracked. He shrugged. “Seriously, what's it for?”

“Oh, you know, lots of things.” Mabel gave a knowing giggle and started to sort through a box of crystals, looking for her next choice.

“Well, that's cryptic and I'm not psychic...” Dipper said, unimpressed.

“No, you're not.” Mabel couldn't helper but keep laughing. She loved to torment her brother and get him all riled up and frustrated. It was like a hobby of hers. “Maybe it'll bring you a little love.”

“Love,” he repeated with a bit of a sarcastic edge.

“Yes.” The proud, happy smile was wiped clean off her face when Dipper let the rock drop from his fingers and said,

“Doubt it.”

“You never know,” Mabel insisted.

“No, I do, and I doubt it.”

“Excuse you! Don't _doubt_ my charms.”

“Usually no, but I'd need more than a crystal. I'd have to bathe in love potion. And, and, even then I don't think it'd help.” He stretched his arms again. “But thanks anyway. It's ...uh... very nice.”

“You're a cynical prick. It's why you suck at making spells.” Mabel said, starting to fashion a new necklace from a smooth cut of opal. Dipper shook his head, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “But I love you anyways.”

“Well then, would you look at that. Your necklace is working already.” Dipper mocked himself more than the charm, and far more than he ever would his sister. Mabel humoured him with a snort but no real laugh. Maybe he did need it...

He looked aside and stared through the window for a long while, watching the grass just beyond the highway twist in a small breeze, the trees speeding by. Dipper ran his fingers along the chain until they touched the chunk of pink crystal. He looked at it skeptically. It wasn't as if he was impossible to love, maybe just tricky, difficult some times. Or maybe it would just take a very special person, capable of putting up with his quirks and attitude. Idly, Dipper rubbed his thumb over the knotted cord. A sharp pain of anxiety tugged at his heart, like a small crack was forming and nothing would be able to perfectly patch it back together again. He squeezed the rose quartz tightly in his palm.

“What do you think Stan and Ford are like?” Dipper asked, trying to fill the silence and ease his nervous emotions.

They hadn't talked about their uncles much until now, which was odd. They spared a brief conversations about it at the beginning of their trip but the topic mainly circle around the town and their resistance over going. As time passed over their drive Mabel seemed to be coming around to the idea. She looked almost excited now. She liked changed, welcome new experiences and the potential for friends. Dipper absolutely did not share this with her. If he could be anywhere else, he would be. Preferably at home, in his garden and away from people.

“They'll be great. I'm sure of it. Dad said they were... interesting! I'm sure he meant that in the absolute best way possible,” Mabel said.

“I think dad said that just so we wouldn't think we were being sent to stay with two crazy old guys, who by the way, we haven't seen since we were kids.”

“What, like they're wanted criminals? Please, you're over reacting. It'll be fine, Dip.” Mabel reassured him with a smile. She then reached out and gave him an awkward pat on the arm.

“Right,” Dipper sunk down into the seat. He turned to press his back against the thin cushion.

Twenty minutes may have passed before Mabel kicked the back of his chair. Dipper didn't even have time to turn around to ask what she wanted. She bound around the row to join him. Her shoulder connected with his own as she practically threw herself at him.

“There it is,” Mabel pointed out the window at the passing road signs.

Dipper looked. The large sign popped into view among the trees. Large with flaking painted green and yellow paint. 'Welcome to Gravity Falls', it read. The sign almost blended into the tree line, unassuming and forgotten. Dipper would have missed it if had it not been pointed out. An adequate representation of how flat and boring Dipper was seeing this summer going.

Soon after signs started to multiply, pickets, nailed to trees, ramshackle or custom built. Upcoming attraction, local psychics, palm reading, gift shops. 'Tourist town', Dipper thought. Among the line up of attractions was one for their would be destination, The Mystery Shack.

“This is going to be a waste of a summer,” Dipper whined more to himself than to his sister.

“We're going to have a great time,” Mabel corrected him with an eager cheerfulness that wasn't as infectious as she pretended. He good mood wasn't rubbing off on him what so ever. He sunk lower, finding it hard to do so with his long legs getting cramped and bent. Dipper crossed his arms over his chest and watched the tree ling begin to thin out, branching off and making way for street turn offs and private driveways.

It wasn't too long after that, that they finally arrived. The bus pulled into the terminal for its final drop off.

Dipper wasted no time in grabbing his things and climbing off the bus. He wasn't entirely sure what to expects as he stepped down onto the broken pavement. He adjusted his backpack over his shoulder. The air was noticeably less suffocating, a very light breeze passing through. There was pollen in the air and everything smelt like grass and warm dirt. Dipper felt himself relax a little. This was his element and he wanted so badly to just stay there. He'd walk to their uncles if necessary. Unfortunately, he caught sight of the old car parked across the parking lot. It was hard to believe something that old and beat up could run, but waiting patiently against the side door were two familiar looking men.

They looked familiar enough for Dipper to not question who they were. Shared a family traits made them recognizable, triggering childhood memories that were long forgotten. Still, Dipper was surprised, finding the idea he had in his head wasn't entirely accurate.

They were both older now, sporting grey hair of varying levels of white to dark. They both had thick rimmed glasses, perched on the inherited round nose. And that's where their similarities stopped. From their posture to physical build, and clothing choices. Dipper could tell that even though the men were twins, they were very different.

He pulled his suitcase behind him as he waiting for Mabel to climb off the bus with three times as much luggage as his own. She grunted, trying to carry numerous bags down the narrow bus steps. It was a struggle. Each bag was stuffed full with outfits for every possible occasion and enough crafting materials that she couldn't possibly run out. It made for a lot of bags to tow around. She dropped a suitcase in the dirt to order to haul another down the bus steps.

Dipper shook his head. It was then that he noticed his uncles were making their way across the parking lot. He took a deep breath, anticipating some awkward introductions.

And they were.

There were no warm, welcoming hugs. The smiling Dipper received was strained and unsure. He returned them in kind, wanting to back away and retreat from the forced handshake offer to him by his uncle Ford.

Mabel though was all cheer. She introduced herself and hugs both of their uncles so tightly they looked like they'd snap.

“Welcome,” Ford said a little hesitant. He didn't seem to know what to say. “I hope the trip was well.”

“It was fine,” He wanted to say it was long and cramped, and that he didn't want to be there at all, but he felt that would be rude. So, Dipper lied. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and began to gnaw away at the bits of chapped skin.

“That's good to hear. I know it's quite the long drive...” Ford nodded. “But you're here now... So, let's get you kids set up at home.”

“We'll get you both fed when we get back too,” Stan said, pipping up from the edge of the group. He gathered up two of their suitcases. “Let's get going.”

.

After such a long day of travel, being in a car again was the last thing Dipper wanted to do. He was tired. His muscles were cramping and tight. And honestly, he just wanted to go to bed. The saving grace however was, this time, there was air conditioning that worked.

Unfortunately, Uncle Stan had a tendency to speed, and took stop signs as more of a suggestion than actual legal requirement. It was rather unnerving how blatantly he disregarded road signs. If this was a more populated town, Dipper was sure he was going to get killed.

Ford reprimanded his brother every so often, breaking off mid-sentence to do so, but Stan waved him off with a grunt each time.

Dipper fell into relative silence over the whole thing, occasionally gripping the side of the door to stable himself in his seat. There were times when a question would be directed at him, but he didn't make an effort to engage in the conversation going on. Mabel was unloading her entire life story on two men who didn't quite understand many of the details being told to them. It was obvious how confused they were but they nodded supportively at her, like most people did when being introduced to her crazy side.

Dipper sighed and turned to look out the window, watching the small town pass by them. The view and feel of Gravity Falls felt strange to him, but in a good way. He was pleasantly surprised, because he was so sure he would hate it here. The air was different out in the woods, thinner and light. There was a wonderful smell of fresh grass and wood.

Real and natural. It was everything California was not. There were no tall apartment buildings or the constant sounds of construction. The air wasn't dry from lack of rain. Dipper imagined he would see stars tonight. Bright ones that weren't drowned out by big city light pollution. The early evening sky was still blue but it was clear of cloud and obstructive buildings.

He closed his eyes, relaxing in the cool air that pumped through the car. About to fall asleep, Ford's voice spoke up over the crackling radio. Dipper's head shot up, disoriented. His uncle had asked a question that Dipper had completely missed. He blinked and made a noise of confusion.

Ford didn't seem to mind. He repeated himself politely. “Your parents told us you are a green witch.”

“Uh... yeah,” Dipper answered.

“I thought it would be nice for you being up this way, so we had a small greenhouse built for you. It's not much, but feel free to use it as you'd like.”

“Oh! Uhm...” Dipper was honestly surprised by that. It was a thoughtful gesture. He couldn't see his uncle's face from the backseat, but he still offered him a small smile in the hopes it was visible in the rear view mirror.

“Thank you,” he said.

“We can get you anything else you might need tomorrow.”

Dipper nodded and agreed to this. He'd actually like that, to feel dirt under his nails again. At home, their outdoor garden was small, most of his plants were pot bound. Not that was a bad thing. There were more plants in his bedroom than there was shelf space for them. It made a small mess, but it made him happy.

While Dipper thought about everything he could plant in a new greenhouse, Mabel started back in with half a million questions about the shack itself and what exactly the two of their uncles did there. The conversation didn't really hold his attention, distracted by thoughts of ivy and sunflowers. However, he did hear some of the main points. Stan was particularly proud of the attraction he'd built for himself in the middle of the woods. The main source of its popularity was the location. Set back into the trees, private and isolated, Stan claimed the Mystery Shack was build over crossing ley lines. And that his whole property was magically charged with strong supernatural energy. Tourists would come to hike the surrounding forest, completely taken in by whatever they believed to be there.

Dipper wasn't exactly convinced, unlike Mabel who looked spellbound already.

The shack though was nothing more than a glorified gift shop. And from how he was talking about the merchandise, it became abundantly clear that Stan did not have any magic in him. Ford however did. In the same string as Mabel, he could craft a spell and make potions. Stan just copied his work. Their uncle smiled proudly, claiming to sell dreams and hope.

This was a very flowery way of saying, he was a conman and a liar. Dipper cringed, not finding this reassuring. His desire to be involved shrank more and more.

His sister didn't seem too put off by this revelation. Instead she looked determined, as if she could help in some way. A lofty desire. But once Mabel set her mind to something, nothing would get in her way until she succeeded. Dipper shook his head.

The car turned onto the dirt road leading into the woods. The car bounced and shook, hitting potholes and large rocks. The narrow road wound up through the trees until it finally came to a wide parking lot. They passed the empty space, instead circling to the back of the building where they finally stopped.

Dipper looked out the car window, getting his first real impressions of the Mystery Shack. The place was old and practically falling apart. The wooden siding was rotten in places, broken and no doubt leaked. Unkempt vines grew up along the sides around the covered back porch. Grass grew over the small steps. And the sign mounted to the roof wasn't even straight. In fact it looked to be holding on by its last nail, threatening to fall from the gentlest of wind. This was were they would be spending their summer.

Maybe the place had some magic to it after all, Dipper thought sarcastically as he got out of the car. Because what other than magic could be holding it together.

Dipper took a deep breath of the fresh air. There was a pleasant scent of wild flowers and a light breeze brought in a cooler temperature. He could smell damp wood from the trees and warm dirt. He stretched it arms and relaxed. His anxiety about the whole trip still held his muscles tight, but there was a temporary ease that calmed his mind. Something about this place that took a weight off his heart.

He was suddenly very tired however. Dipper leaned against the car as their things were unloaded from the trunk. His head felt light and bubbly, a dizzy sensation running through his blood. Maybe it was the chronic insomnia or maybe the trip had just knocked more energy out of him than expected but Dipper was finding it hard to pay attention to everything around him. Mabel bumped his arm as she passed by and it nearly sent him falling to the ground.

“Come on, Dip!” she called, bounding up the decrepit porch steps. They creaked and the old wood bowed under the weight of heavy feet.

Dipper pushed himself off the car and followed. He stopped briefly at the porch. A small thistle was pocking out from the wooden slats. It looked young, still without a flower. Dipper lightly bent down to touch it. He smiled as he stood back up to follow the rest of his family inside. The thistle shook. Its bulb parting to let the purple flower inside escape into the open sunshine.

Without much to say, they were shown around the house quite quickly. The porch brought them through the kitchen and after that, the living room was on the main floor. Most of the bedrooms were upstairs.

Mabel was dropped off at her bedroom with her things, while Ford took Dipper up another set of stairs to the attic. The space was a bit smaller, recently renovated into something resembling a bedroom. There was a slanted ceiling which made the place feel more cramped than it actually was. And against the far wall, was a large triangle shaped window that fit into the shape of the roof. It offered a good amount of natural light even so late in the day.

Dipper placed his backpack on the bed. The mattress springs made a small noise. He turned to look at Ford who left his suitcase by the doorway. He thanked him again with a smile.

“Again, if you need anything, please let us know. I'll leave you to unpack,” Ford said. “Dinner will be in about an hour. So, do come downstairs whenever you've gotten settled.”

“No problem. I'll be down soon.”

Ford nodded, taking that as his cue to leave. He could clearly feel the energy of the room, drained and anxious. So he simply let Dipper be alone for a while, closing the door behind himself as he left.

Dipper sighed and picked at the dead skin on his lip. He looked around the room, uncomfortable only by its lack of familiarity. He tried to ignore it. Ruffling a hand through his hair, Dipper wandered over towards the window. The curtains were pushed back already and gave a good view of the backyard. Gently he blew a bit of dust from the window frame. The glass was smudged with fingerprints. Dipper opened the window to let some of the breeze into the musty attic.

It was soft and light, brushing against Dipper's hot face with a pleasant caress. He signed, soothed by the feeling and scent of wood.

Dipper pulled himself away form the window. The intention was to begin unpacking, he moved the backpack to the floor and unzipped it. But then he looked at the small bed with its thin homemade quilt and fluffy pillow. It looked like the most inviting thing to him in his moment of pure exhaustion. He didn't even bother to remove his sneakers as he knelt up onto the bed. Dipper flopped over, face first into the pillow. And just like that, Dipper immediately fell asleep to the cool breeze tickling the back of his neck like fingertips in his hair.


	2. Chapter 2

Thick eyelashes fluttered softly, the cushioning weight of sleep drifting away like the tide. In those brief seconds before fully awake, Dipper clung to his dreamless sleep. He breathed in, able to taste the fresh morning air. Legs uncurling, Dipper stretched underneath the thin quilt.

Bright light from the early sun shone in through the window. It lit the small attic room, chasing away the shadows and anything resembling night. The light was gentle, warm and glowing. The barest hint of a breeze rustled the open curtains. There was a distant bird outside, chirping in the yard.

For a instant Dipper kept his eye closed to the world, finding that particular moment in time to be perfect, peaceful and calm. The stiff mattress under him felt almost comfortable and he dared not move a finger, less it disrupt his position and make his limbs become awkward and cramped. There was a pleasant numbness to his body right then, something perfect and airy that would be ruined if he breathed too strongly, he was sure of it. The soft pull of sleep retreated, but he still kept his eyes closed.

The bright light grew stronger as the sun found just the right angle to shine across his face. Dipper scrunched his eyes tightly and turned into the pillow. His cheek brushed over the wet spot on the pillowcase where he'd been drooling all night. It was cold now and damp against his skin. He groaned tiredly and disgusted.

Outside his open window the happy bird that had been making small chirps on its own had found a partner to share in long winded and lengthy conversations, becoming louder and more aggressively persistent. Now it was more of a repetitively sharp sound, like an annoying alarm clock you couldn't shut up.

The wonderfully picturesque morning glow was just another rude wake up call and despite a full nights sleep, Dipper felt tired and miserable. Surely he hadn't slept long if he was still so tired. He didn't remember what time he fell into bed, or that he'd even gone to bed. The night had come and gone so quickly that it felt like a blip, like it never really happened. Dipper groaned into the pillow, telling the birds to be quite so he could try and fall back to sleep.

The lightness he had felt in his limbs were becoming less peaceful and relaxed now that he'd become aware of their awkward bend. One cramping as he stretched his arm out. As he flexed his fingers a sharp pain set into his muscles, like little needles were trying to poke through his arm. It prickles his skin and tingles up through his whole arm. Dipper groaned in frustration. He stretched out again, wiggling his feet this time. He was far too awake now to even hope of sleeping in.

To add to his frustration, somewhere out in the yard below his window, the noise of a rickety old lawn mower was kicked to life. The motor was turned over, rattling loudly even from the distance. It sounded like it was about to explode as it ate up the dirt under its blades. Dipper picked his head up, unable to stand the noise any longer. His tangled bangs fell into his eyes, grown out longer than their usual length. He was regretting not getting a haircut before their trip. The fluffy mop of curls were constantly getting in his face and tickling his ears now.

Dipper grumbled under his breath, hashing out little curses and protesting getting up. But, defeated and groggy from sleep, he opened his eyes to the morning sun. Immediately he squinted and wanted nothing more than to fall face first back into the pillow. With a small push Dipper lifted himself onto his elbows. He shook the hair from his eyes and blinked. The blur cleared quickly and he could see again.

As much as he didn't want to, he decided to get up. There was no sleeping like this, he didn't see a point in trying. It felt early, though he couldn't actually tell. Remembering that he was still dressed from the day before, Dipper assumed his phone would be tucked away into the back pocked of his jeans. He crooked his arm back, ignoring the way it ached from all the pins and needles. With a small pat of the denim, he found the pocket was empty. Dipper signed. He had put it in his book bag at some point yesterday.

'Screw it', he thought before yawning loudly.

The racket from the lawn mower continued on outside, upsetting the birds in the process. Their morning chatter turned into what sounded more like a territory dispute regarding the person trying to do lawn work. There was no way Dipper was going to be able to sleep through that.

He kicked at the quilt that was wrapped around his legs. The stretch was clumsy and stiff, legs not wanting to be used just yet. Dipper forced himself to sit up from the nest he'd built up in the night. He shook the quilt off his foot before swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Sleeping in sneakers and jeans was not the most comfortable and Dipper felt rather heavy and sore as he pulled himself from the bed. The bed frame squeaked almost as loudly as Dipper's tired yawning.

Lazily he stood up and trudged over to the open window. He rubbed at his face and up into his hair, fingers catching on the matted tangles. The summer sun was warm on his skin and bright. It was soothing, even in his cranky state of mind. Dipper let himself relax in the sun stream that was unobscured by large city pollution and tall buildings. There was no lingering smell of car exhaust in the air or the smell of pavement as it was heated in the summer sun.

The soft breeze from outside touched his face. There was a hint of humidity to it as it carried away the morning dew. It was cool against his skin where the sun had heated it. The breeze brought in the smell of freshly cut grass, still damp from the night before. This was a something he was blessed with so rarely at home. Cities were too big and noisy and the yards were too small and under grown.

He looked into the backyard. From his attic window, Dipper could see the whole of the lawn, from the edge of the porch to the thick line of trees that circled the property. Below him the grass was being cut. A bit hazardously at that. There were still patches of tall grass in between the waving rows left by the mower. Some spots looked chewed up from the ground entirely. Dipper crossed his arms over the window shill, resting forward to watch the man working below.

He probably could have stayed there longer, enjoying the feeling of the sunshine like a cat, but it was ruined by the backdoor swinging open. The screen bounces off the house's siding with a loud wooden bang. It startled Dipper from his peaceful meditation and made him jump forward against the windowsill.

He perched himself on his elbows to look down. The roof of the back porch blocked his view of what was happening. Not that he needed to. While he couldn't see, Dipper could hear his uncle yelling across the yard to the man mowing the lawn.

“God damn it, Soos!”

Apparently everyone was up now, not just him. Dipper backed away from the window. He supposed it would be best that he head downstairs to face them all, now that his peace had been cut short. For a second Dipper entertained the thought of changing at least his shirt, maybe even a shower, but the motivation was nonexistent and quite frankly he didn't really care. It wasn't even in him to wash his face. He was far too lazy to be bothered with that. Still yawning from sleep, Dipper left the room and started to slowly make his way down the stairs.

His feet dragged on their own accord, stalling his movements with mild hesitation. From the second floor landing, he could hear the voices drifting up from the kitchen below. Idle chitchat over breakfast, the occasional laugh from his sister. There was the noises of glasses and cutlery. Dipper could smell the brewed coffee and it was delightfully strong. With a long breath, he descended the last set of stairs with an unwilling heavy foot.

As he entered the kitchen, the talking came to an abrupt end and all faces turned to him. The sudden attention made Dipper's stomach drop. He unconsciously grabbed at his arm and started pulling on the sleeve of his shirt. He fiddled and picked at the fabric, trying to shove his fingernails through the shirt entirely. Dipper offered Ford a small, uncomfortable smile.

Thankfully Mabel was there to help ease the tension. She greeted him with a chipper energy that shouldn't be attainable by anyone so early in the morning. Mabel didn't drink coffee but she ran about with the same excitable attitude as if she downed a full pot of espresso. Already she seemed to be halfway through her breakfast, dressed for the day in bright colours and ready to get to work on whatever struck her as inspirational.

Dipper in comparison had none of that motivation or drive. He dragged himself further into the kitchen to stand awkwardly on the tiles, waiting to be offered a seat.

Ford seemed to be a far more reasonable morning person, seated with his newspaper which he'd been quietly reading. He politely nodded in Dipper's direction and offered him a gentle comment of,

“Morning. Hope you slept well.”

He was comfortably sitting at the table across from Mabel, a mug of coffee in one hand as he shuffled the paper in the other. Every time he leaned forward to drink from the full mug, his glasses slipped on his nose. Seeing him like this made Ford much less intimidating and imposing as he had seemed yesterday.

Dipper came over to the table where they sat together over breakfast. “Morning,” he said back.

Ford set his coffee aside to adjust his glassed. He peered up at Dipper from behind the paper then. He wore a warm little smile that reached his eyes. It was reassuring and kind, and Dipper couldn't help but return it.

“After you didn't come down for dinner last night, we thought you might not be feeling well. However, your sister says you do this some times-”

“Yeah,” Dipper said quickly, unintentionally interrupting. He blushed a little and shifted from one foot to the other. “It's not a big deal or anything. I was just tired. Long trip... Next time, you can just wake me up... That's fine.”

It wasn't that big of a deal, at least he didn't think it was. He just didn't sleep well some nights. On the surface, it was just insomnia. Insomnia was common. So Dipper couldn't really considering it a problem or that it was anything important. Lots of people had insomnia. He wasn't special.

It just meant that he got tired sporadically throughout the day. Sometimes he went to bed early or slept in late. Other times, he was prone to long naps. It was a little inconvenient and occasionally disruptive to his day, but Dipper was use to it.

“It's fine,” he repeated in a low mumble.

Ford nodded. He folded the paper over on the table and leaned forward.

“Well, you must be hungry by now,” he said before inviting Dipper to sit down.

“A bit... sure...” Dipper sat next to his sister on the opposite side of the table. He half watched as his uncle got up for him. Mostly though, Dipper was side eyeing Mabel. She was busy pouring herself another bowl of cereal. She seemed to have made herself right at home.

Bright as ever, she looked well rested and happy. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail to keep the thick curls off her neck in the summer heat. It also helped keep the majority of her hair out of her food as she bent into the bowl, almost sticking her face completely in the cereal while eating. Typical Mabel behaviour. Dipper huffed a small laugh in her direction which earned him a light kick to the shin.

A bowl was set in front of him so Dipper could help himself to a little breakfast as well. The idea made his stomach growl. It hadn't occurred to Dipper that he hadn't eaten since some point yesterday over their long bus trip. By now he was running on fumes. Like Mabel, he poured himself a large bowl of cereal and started eating in large spoonfuls, taking the distraction as a way to avoid small talk.

“Do you drink coffee?” Ford asked him, setting a clean mug down.

“Of course he does,” Mabel commented for him before shovelling another bite into her mouth. “And lots of it.”

“Mabel...” Dipper started to say something but let it go. She had a bad habit of doing that, speaking out for him or above him. It was annoying and sometimes extremely rude. He didn't say anything further, pushing the spoon into his mouth. The thought died away once a mug was nudged in front of him, filled to the brim with wonderful smelling coffee. He thanked his uncle and reached for a little milk.

“It's suppose to be a beautiful day today. Good weather to show you two around town, if you had the interest,” Ford commented, falling into casual conversation topics. It was rather apparent that he hadn't gotten much practice talking to strangers, unlike his brother. He was pleasant but shy, more reserved and calm. Dipper could relate in a way.

Quickly though Mabel was deep into a one sided conversation, barely prompted by anyone else. She didn't need the help when it came to talking. She prattled on about what she wanted to do for the day, what her big plans were for the summer, followed by countless questions that their uncle wasn't given time to answer.

He blinked at her, stunned before casting a glance at Dipper for help. It was funny, the way he stared over his coffee mug, flustered and speechless. Dipper just smiled and shrugged silently. He didn't want to be dragged into this.

Ford gave a stiff chuckle and tried to be encouraging, although he didn't quite know what he was agreeing to with Mabel.

“That's great, sweetheart,” he managed to supply her before she started going on again.

It was then that Stan came back inside. The screen door slammed shut on itself, the thin wooden frame banging closed. There was a screech from the hinges, giving the impression that the flimsy door was going to fall off at any time. Dipper jumped in his chair, surprised at first but then very embarrassed when Ford looked his way. Mabel laughed at him. Cheeks turning a bright shade of pink, he hide his face in his coffee mug. He pulled his shoulder close to his ears and hunched over in his seat.

“We're gonna need a new fucking lawn mower. That thing sounds like it's gonna fall apart-Hey kid. How'd you sleep?” Stan abruptly ruffled Dipper's hair as he passed by. He plopped himself down into the last empty chair next to Ford. “-Told Soos to cut it out for now. Hey, do you kids know anything about mechanics?”

Stan swiped the newspaper from where Ford had placed it on the table. He shuffled through the pages before settling on a section. He was more so eyeballing headlines than actually reading, flipping pages over and back again. Ford looked at him with an exhausted and annoyed expression because he'd been the one reading the paper. The look went blatantly ignored.

Dipper and Mabel found themselves looking between the two brothers with favourable amusement. The familiar sibling bickering reminded them of their own relationship. Mabel even snickered aloud, while Dipper only hid a smirk behind his coffee mug.

“I'm sure he's out there now... trying to fix the bloody thing with duct-tape,” Stan mumbled out under his breath. “You sure you can't – I don't know – wiggle your fingers and fix the thing?” he asked Ford. His brother gave him a tired look, one that he'd clearly given many times before.

“Stanley, you know that's not how that works. Stop asking me to fix all your problems with magic. It's not as simple as _wiggling my fingers_ every time you have problems with the television or the microwave...”

“What good are you then,” Stan grumbled.

“Magic doesn't work like that.”

“Oh yeah, but aura reading and deviation, that's a thing-”

“Divination,” Ford corrects with a sharp tone. “And yes, that's a thing.”

“Fuck, fine. I'll send Soos to the hardware store later.” Stan rubbed his face and gave a small frustrated sigh. He adjusted his glasses in a similar fashion to his brother and made himself comfortable to skim the paper. “Preferably before he sets the backyard on fire...”

Ford rolled his eyes and went on to ignore his brother now that the newspaper was so rudely taken from him. He turned to his coffee and the sitting across the table.

Dipper was doing his best to seem too busy with the bowl of cereal in front of him. He stirred at the milk, watching as the flakes of wheat swirled in a little circle. The crunchy cereal was softening the longer he played with it. Soon it was nothing more than a bowl of soggy mush. It was unappealing and bland, far less appetizing this way. He pulled a face, not wanting to eat it any more. The bowl was pushed a side in favour for the still hot coffee in his mug.

Mabel's voice was chirping in his ear, excited about going out later to see the town first hand. Personally, Dipper honestly wouldn't mind skipping the outing. He was less excited about sightseeing and nosing around in gift shops. There was one literally feet away from him now if he wanted to look at over priced fake charms. Phony attractions weren't Dipper's idea of a good time. But to be polite, he nodded in agreement to go. He sighed softly through his nose and let his mind drifting off on itself own.

“Dipper.”

The sound of his name brought him back. He looked up, wide eyed with surprise. Ford was watching him. He must have missed a question while he wasn't paying attention. Lacking context or anything to go off of, he bit his thumbnail. The pause in conversation was a bit embarrassing. He apologized.

“Sorry?” Dipper said. Ford just chuckled.

“I was saying that, after breakfast – or whenever you wish to – that you're free to go inspect your new greenhouse. It's all ready for you out back.”

“Thank you.”

“If there's anything you still need, just let us know.”

Dipper thanked him as he tried to hide a happy smile behind the curl of his fingers. “Yeah, okay. I can do that,” he said.

“It's nothing fancy or anything,” Ford added. “But, I hope it works for you.”

“No. That's alright. It'll be plenty-”

“Oh! Now look at this bullshit!” Stan burst out loudly, tossing the paper flat over the table and disrupting everyone's breakfast. He gestured wildly to the paper with both hands. Ford moved to the side, avoiding a particularly aggressive swing. “Can you believe this guy?”

“Who is it now, Stanley?” Ford asked, hardly interested in his brother's rantings. He huffed, shooing the edge of the paper away from his coffee. The answer wasn't a surprise but Ford still couldn't help the way his eyes rolled at the answer he was given.

“Gleeful!”

“Of course it is... What could he have possibly done now to upset you?”

It was pretty clear Ford wasn't actually interest, only enabling his brother's bad behaviour. One little nudge sent him headlong into a loud rant. It was too much for Dipper. He awkwardly finished off his coffee, cradling the mug between his palms. He kind of wanted to leave but he didn't want to interrupt by excusing himself. So, instead, he looked between his uncles uncomfortably and quiet. Beside him, Mabel snickered as she cleared away her bowl of cereal.

“That little punk took out a whole page in the paper to advertise his crap sham of a telepathy act! Worst garbage I've ever seen. And people call me a conman...”

Dipper leaned forward over the table, just curious enough to take a peek at what was irritating Stan so much. Mabel came bounding back over, desperate to have a look of her own. She used Dipper's shoulder to slow her down and come to a stop. He squeaked in discomfort, having the air temporarily knocked out of him.

To them it didn't look like much. It was just another advertisement for yet another tourist attraction. Dipper was particularly unimpressed by the banner font and star images. To him, it looked more like a poster for a sideshow performer and less like a real business. Tacky and over done. It also didn't help that the host posing for the ad looked like a very young televangelist, dressed in a crisp white suit and shining gelled hair.

Dipper frowned over his fingers. He could see why Stan was so spiteful and jealous. The guy in the ad looked hardly any older than Dipper was, maybe even younger. It was quite the business tactic from a guy that looked to still be in high school. Mabel reached over him to grab at the newspaper. Dipper leaned out of the way.

She gathered up the paper and read the heading out loud. It made Stan dramatically retch and whine. He wasn't a fan, clearly. It didn't take much for him to start badmouthing the guy and spreading gossip.

Dipper didn't care to listen. He set his mug aside and looked passed them through the bay window to the backyard.

“His show is completely rigged!” Stan went on to say, his words drifting in and out of Dipper's ear to the point that whatever he was saying felt cut up and meaningless. “Audience full of paid actors to make him look psychic...”

“So... it's fake?” Mabel asked, innocently hopeful in the legitimacy in the town and it's supposed high magical population. Their uncle barked out a laugh, sarcastically amused by her question.

“Of course it it! That brat's got as much magic as I do – None!”

Dipper sighed, unimpressed. He was actually about ready to leave the room just so he could avoid the conversation entirely. He rested his chin in his palm and stared outside. From there, he could see the blue sky and the trees rustle gently in the morning breeze. Mentally, he pretended to be elsewhere.

Ford sighed, “Stanley...”

“Don't _Stanley_ me. You know it's bullshit.”

Dipper stood from the table quietly excusing himself from breakfast. He took his mushy bowl of cereal and empty coffee mug to the sink. He set them in down in the sink and looked back over his shoulder at his family. No one seemed to notice him leaving, too engrossed in their civil arguing. It was the opportunity he needed and he took it, retreating from the kitchen through the screen door to outside.

“This week it's Gideon, next you'll be declaring war against Bill...” Ford said. “Again, I might add”

“Who's Bill?” Mabel pipped in, encouraging and interested.

“Ha! That guy?”

“Stanley!”

Dipper left before Stan went into more yelling. His social anxiety couldn't handle yelling so early in the morning. It had already been awkward and weird to sit around the table for so long. He couldn't do it. Thankfully Ford had offered him a small escape by mentioning the newly build greenhouse. He let go of the screen door, letting it swing back into the frame as gently as possible but it still rattled and knocked together as it closed.

Out on the porch it was much quieter, though he could still hear the conversation going on in the kitchen. Dipper ignored it easily, years of practise with living with his sister's incessant chatting. He stretched, arms long above his head. He took a full breath of clean, crisp air. The tension in his shoulders loosened some. It was so nice there, alone on the porch. Sun on his face, the warm summer air, this was where he wanted to spend all of his time.

With a happy little jump, Dipper bound down the porch steps. His sneakers skidding over the drive's gravel, he crossed to the grass. The yard was empty now, the man from earlier, Soos apparently, had gone elsewhere. The grass was still only partially mowed, the slightly damp blades more crushed and trampled flat than cut. He could feel the dew sinking into the canvas of his shoes, wetting his socks slightly. It felt pretty good. Oregon wasn't as dry as California. There was a humidity in the air that felt rather nice when the wind came by. There was a weight to it that left Dipper's skin feeling clammy beneath his bangs.

He shielded his eyes to the sun as he made his way across the lawn. It was bright in the absence of a hat. He'd need to find one if he was going to spend the summer out here.

Their private property was fenced off away from the general tourist attraction. It was small, mostly made up of a simple square patch of grass that was tucked away from the parking lot. Towards the back of the property was a rather old looking tool shed, built from recycled wood and bits of siding. It had a broken down appeal, with a chipped paint job and potential bug infestation. But on the other side was a new structure, though not much bigger than the shed was. Dipper smiled when he saw his very own greenhouse.

There were empty pots stacked up by the front door. The little towers they formed looked precarious, like the smallest gust of wind would blow them all over. There were a good mixture of sizes, some plastic and others made of terracotta. Everything was ready for him, begging to be used. Dipper picked up one of the clay pots, holding it to his body in a gentle hug.

He fondly looked over the greenhouse. He felt like his uncles went all out for him and he was deeply touched by the gesture.

The small structure the served as a greenhouse was sturdy. At least it looked it. Small and slim like the shed, the wooden frame had been painted a soft mint green colour. The large window panels of glass caught the morning sun, shining bright and blinding. You could still see the finger prints smudged into the glass but that would be easily washed away. He told himself that he would thank his uncle later for all this.

Dipper placed his hand on the doorknob and gave a gentle push. The door swung open for him, inviting him inside.

He steps inside and looked around. Bags of dirt were pushed off to the side. There were gardening tools set left out for his use. There were even a small pile of seed packets for him. It was everything he could need.

He set the pot he had picked up onto a low level shelf that had been built into the wooden frame. He was excited to see all of them brimming with different types of flowers and herbs. Dipper smiled wide.

Reaching over the wooden planter boxes he slid open the window to let in a little air flow. It carried in the sharp scent of needles and sap from the woods. He excitedly tapped his fingers against the empty shelves. This was more than he could have asked for. The small breeze ruffled his bangs. Dipper blinked the hair from his eyes and moved back a step.

He took a seat on the packed gravel floor, back pressed to the wall. As he imagined all the things he could start growing, he started to fiddle with the cord around his neck. He had completely forgotten about it actually. He twisted the cord about his fingers and tugged lightly.

The sun was hot as it shined down against the top of his head. Dipper closed his eyes and relaxed.

Maybe he had been too quick to judge this whole trip. Over all, it hadn't been that bad, and his uncles were as nice as he remembered them to be. Stay for a few months couldn't be all bad. Dipper fiddled with the necklace his sister made for him as he relaxed. If this was how he could spend his summer up in Oregon, it might not be so terrible after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow burn until it's not. Temporary spot the easter eggs until shit happens.
> 
> Two chapters and we're already over a 10k word count. Kind of feeling like this is going to be another 50-100k story. Who's down for that?


	3. Chapter 3

Dipper was starting to form a new opinion of Gravity Falls. His old one was still firmly set in his mind, the opinion that this was a tourist trap town with nothing to offer but obnoxious sights and shops that were all fake. And over the passed few days of living there, this was proven true more and more. However, his additional thoughts on the small town was that it was exactly that, a small town with small town living.

A few days in and already he and his sister were the centre of town gossip. As if a visiting niece and nephew were big news or anything spectacular. Dipper found this rather excessive. They couldn't go anywhere without someone waving them down to talk, to ask them a million and one questions about themselves and if certain rumours were true. It was annoying but Dipper grinned from ear to ear, in the same way that one would smile for someone they didn't like but had to be polite to. He answered their questions to the best of his ability but chose not to go into detail about his personal life.

He wasn't trying to advertise or sell himself. At most he wanted to correct any rumours that were going around about him or his sister, although Mabel wasn't on the same page as he was. She was usually right by his side, talking away like the strangers they met were long lost friends they hadn't seen in years. Without much push or prod, Mabel would go into detailed stories about their trip, where they were staying and why they were visiting in the first place. She was in no way helping Dipper's desire to stay under the radar of town gossip. Instead, it felt like her plan was to push them into the forefront of it all and never not be the topic of conversation, not with all the subtle hints she liked to drop about her plans for the Mystery Shack and her own work. That sparked it's own layer of gossip.

Dipper would just roll his eyes, not wanting any part in it. He'd quietly escape the conversation by means of mentally spacing out. It was a small talent of his. Not quite the ability to astral project, but just mute his brain long enough to lose track of time and his surroundings. It was great for mediation, or to mentally checkout on boring small talk with neighbours. When it was all over Mabel would just have to elbow him in the ribs to get his attention.

For all his complaining and skepticism, Dipper didn't dislike Gravity Falls. He had yet to make a conclusive opinion on the place. He declared indifference until swayed into making a final decision. For now he chose to remain on the outside, quietly observing as everyone else lived their lives. If he had been allowed, he would have stayed in his greenhouse for the entirety of the summer. At least out there, it was quiet and he didn't have to pretend to be comfortable with socializing. However, his little vacation was interrupted by Stan finally putting them to work. Little under a week to relax and adjust was enough time, he'd decided. After all, it was why they'd come all this way. Dipper had been pulled from his sprouting plants and arranging of pots to be dropped in the centre of the gift shop to sink or swim in the sea of customer service.

And boy, did he ever sink. Dipper wasn't exactly what one would call personable. He wasn't skilled at selling anything. While knowledgeable on everything in the shop, he wasn't about to lie in order to make a sale. Everything was worthless, he didn't feel the right to promise anything out of Stan's good luck charms or whatever someone was interested in buying. He stuttered through explanations and awkwardly fidgeted in the corner of the room, until Stan pulled him from that job. He kept Dipper away from any position where he had to deal with people, for their own benefit. A broom was shoved into his hands on the third day of work and he was told to 'pretend to look busy'.

There wasn't much pretending needed. Not because there was a lot to clean or stock, not much to help the maintenance guy, Soos, repair or fix, but because there wasn't a crowd of people to avoid or pretend for. Dipper could spot the patterns, the busy hour and what days brought people up to the attraction. It was easy to hide himself in the storeroom closet and pretend to be reorganizing the organized shelves that he had previously organized. It kept him busy and away from the gift shop which was exactly what Stan wanted. He wasn't scaring off potential customers with his weird shuffling about like a serial killer.

Today, there was nothing for him to do, not even a shelf to dust. It was a rainy day outside and no one was drawn to hike through the woods in the rain. The air was hot and humid from it, the ground was soft and muddy where it wasn't collecting puddles of moss coloured water. Dipper took in a deep breath and rested his chin on top of the broom handle. Even the gift shop smelt of old damp wood. It was a pleasant smell and it made him smile a little as he relaxed where he stood, mildly bored and tired thanks to the weather. There was no better time to curl up for a nap than when it was grey and rainy, he thought. Dipper looked about the empty gift shop. He'd been standing there for a while doing nothing more than watching the rain outside the window. Every so often he tried, and failed spectacularly, to engage their part time cashier in conversation.

Dipper looked her way, a tightness kept his lips firmly shut as he thought of what to say. He was never good at starting conversations or being the first one to actively try and make friends. It was too weird and a part of him was scared that he was coming off as creepy.

Dipper had met Wendy the other day in passing. She had been just leaving when he'd wandered into the shop for no real purpose. They were about the same height, off by an inch or so in her favour. She was a little older than him too, though he didn't ask by how much. He just assumed within a few years, no more than that. At the time he had a million questions flooding his mind, but he'd been otherwise floored by her and didn't ask or say anything, scared his voice would give out and he'd stutter embarrassingly. Now, he couldn't remember any of them. Dipper fidgeted, his fingers tapping away on the broom nervously.

Wendy wasn't doing anything, which seemed normal for her work ethic here. She was pushed back in the chair behind the counter, feet swung up over the register in a way that both looked comfortable and not at the same time. She hadn't looked up from her phone in over an hour, barely blinking as she scrolled through social media and texted away with friends that Dipper didn't know. The most movement out of her in the last while had been when she threw her long flaming red hair up into a messy, knotted bun, strands falling loose from the elastic. After that, only her fingers seemed to have much energy, moving over her phone screen in rapid succession.

Dipper looked her over from her messy hair to her ripped jeans and untied sneakers. His eyes lingered on the pale skin poking through the rips in her jeans. The most non suggestive parts of a human's body, mere rectangles that exposed a shin or a knee was all it took to make Dipper blush like a pubescent teenager. He swallowed a thick lump in his throat before licking his lips anxiously.

“Uh-” he managed to get out but not much else. Wendy didn't even look up or acknowledge his shy squeak. Still, he does his best to break the silence while it was just the two of them. He smiles quickly and tried to make a joke. “It's a good thing we're safe inside. Wouldn't want to be stuck out in the _killer_ fog.”

“What?” Wendy glanced up at him over her phone. She looked understandably confused.

The simple looked made Dipper want to swallow his own tongue. It was a stupid thing to say anyway. He bit his lower lip and turned away from her. “Nothing, bad joke.”

“That was suppose to be a joke?” she asked.

Dipper sighed, mumbled a, 'kind of', before turning back to the window to stare aimlessly outside.

“Wait, was that, like, a Stephen King based joke?” She swung her feet down from the register and sat forward with her elbows against counter.

Dipper raised an eyebrow, cautiously looking toward her. He stayed hunched over though, making himself smaller and hid in his arm. He didn't stop himself from replying but braced himself for ridicule all the same.

“No, you're thinking of his book, The Mist. I meant, The Fog... 80's horror movie. Ghosts and shit... Never mind.” Dipper tucked his chin into the crook of his elbow and hid his embarrassment from sight.

“That's cool,” Wendy said. “Didn't take you for a horror fan.”

Dipper perked up a bit. His eyes got big with excitement for a split seconds, feeling like someone would be interested in talking about something he liked for a change. It helped curb the fear he had of possible rejection and dismissal from someone who he wanted to be his friend. His head lifted from the broom handle. A little too enthusiastic, Dipper started talking, swaying from one foot to the other and he unloaded his nerdy interests on someone who may have just been being polite.

“Yeah, horror. I like horror... movies... Books too. I read a lot.... Scifi is generally my favourite though. Anything to do with aliens. Not that I believe in aliens. Well, I kinda do, or want to... Oh! And fantasy, fantasy anything: books, movies, games.”

Wendy started to laugh. It shut Dipper up immediately. He felt the heat of his face, the burn it left along his cheeks as the skin turned red. He ran a hand over the back of his neck, rubbing awkwardly. Maybe he should have stayed quiet after all.

“Finally, the quiet one speaks. Good to know it's not just your sister who knows how.”

Dipper was surprised to find that Wendy's comment, while a jab at him, wasn't said with any ill tone or intention to make fun of him. It was said with a smile and was good natured. She was teasing him like a friend and that didn't happen often. He almost didn't know how to respond. Dipper shuffled his feet across the floor and over to the counter with a little hesitation. He kept his hands tightly wrapped around the broom to ground himself.

“No, we both know how to speak... She's just better at it,” Dipper said with a self-teasing smile. It was a joke, in a way. Half way between a joke and honesty. Mabel was always better at talking to people. It came natural to her. Dipper was jealous about that kind of confidence. And often, he hid his feelings with a small joke directed towards himself. “It's not really a big deal. I don't mind being... quiet.”

“Nothing wrong with it. Kinda nice actually.” She smiled at him and it made Dipper's heart do a weird kind of back flip. “I know what it's like to have loud siblings.”

“You-uh... have a lot of siblings?” Dipper rubbed at his neck, fingers wrapping about the cord of his necklace. For some reason he hadn't taken it off since Mabel forced it on him. Even though, that was kind of the point of a charm. They are suppose to be left on. He reminded himself of this as he tugged on the cord aggressively in his nervousness. This charm in particular was suppose to be helpful with love, self-love, confidence, whatever you needed it to bring to you. And maybe it would. He awkwardly stood, restlessness and antsy, looking back at Wendy with a hopeful smile.

She groaned dramatically and pushed her hair out of her eyes. Even when pulled up on her head, it still seemed to find a way to fall in her face.

“UH! Yes. They are so annoying. You've probably run into them in town,” she said. “We all work at the hardware store. My dad owns and runs it.”

“Oh!” Right, he had noticed a high percentage of redheads working there every time he had to stop in for something for his greenhouse. They were, in fact, very loud and rowdy. Dipper laughed along with her.

“Yeah... Yeah, you... you have a big family then.” Dipper went to lean on the counter, to be charming and smoothly prop himself up on his elbows. He let go of the broom and it slid off the counter's edge, loudly clattering to the floor and making him jump. Wendy watched him leap back a foot and snorted through her fingers.

Dipper blushed again, finding it hard to do anything but. Looking elsewhere, he rubbed his clammy palms down over the wrinkled thigh of his jeans. He old himself to calm down and act cool, as if that was something he knew how to do. Here he was trying to be flirty and get to know someone and they were laughing. Dipper swallowed and shook off his nerves. Wendy didn't seem to be outright rejecting him, and she didn't even look bothered by how anxious he was being. She was too nice and laid back.

“Robbie pretends not to be, but he's totally afraid of my family.”

Dipper blanched. That cold, heavy weight of inevitable rejection settled in his stomach. He leaned onto the counter, awkwardly tapping his fingers against the wood top. His movements were purposefully slow so he would seem less twitchy. A small stammer made his voice waver as he repeated Robbie's name in question. In his mind he was hoping this was just a friend but honestly, he was never that lucky. He braced himself for what came next.

“Yeah, he's my boyfriend.”

There it was. Dipper felt like someone just dumped ice water over his head. He nodded and put on a fake smile.

“That's cool...” he said with a chipper tone that may have been a little tight in his throat. The feeling was cleared away with a slight cough but it didn't help the soul crushing disappointment. He absentmindedly grabbed the crystal at the end of his necklace and squeezed it tightly in his hand. The raw hard edges bit into the flesh of his palm to the point of painful. He internally told the stupid thing it was useless.

Thankfully Wendy didn't go into any details about her boyfriend and Dipper didn't ask more than what would seem casual. He didn't want to hear about him anyway. In fact, he was more than happy to change the subject all together. Anything would be better.

He wasn't good at conversation so Dipper didn't ask anything in particular, falling back on the typical kind of questions one asks when meeting new people, general life facts: what their hobbies are, what they do for fun, if they like their town or not. Wendy responded to whatever he asked him, adding in a sarcastic joke or two, smiling and teased him playfully. It was comforting, less clumsy, and made Dipper actually feel at ease, like he had known her far longer than a grand total of a couple hours. He found himself relaxing.

Her story, in short, she was is her last year of college and only home for the summer. The only reason Wendy really even goes to college was to leave Gravity Falls for a while. That and the parties. Her grades were barely passing because of that, but she didn't seem to care much.

It turned out they shared quite a few interests in common from movies to video games.

And while Gravity Falls had always been her home, she agreed with him that it was an odd town, full of weird people that were either too much in your business or too out of it to care.

Other little additions to their conversations, which more fell in the category of gossip than conversation, was that Greasy's Dinner had the best pie in town, and some guy named Tyler had a thing for Wendy's dad, which she was okay with but she also didn't want to be privy to her own dad's love life.

She agreed with him that the town went a little overboard with the whole occult gimmick to bring in tourists. For the amount of people in town that new how to use magic, maybe dozen knew how to use it well. It wasn't any justification for turning the whole town into one big theme park. More often than not, those people caused more trouble than it was worth. The town was just weird and drew in likewise weird people like a magnet, that was her conclusion.

“Robbie says he can do some magic but honestly, he can't do shit. So, if he ever tells you he can, don't believe him. He's just trying to sound impressive,” Wendy told him.

“I'll remember that.” Dipper nodded. A small spike of jealous shot up his spine, pushing him to say something when he really shouldn't. “He couldn't even learn an easy card trick or something? Not like it's hard...”

“You'd be surprised. No, actually, you'll understand when you meet him.”

Dipper made a face, not really wanting to meet Wendy's boyfriend at all. He knew it'd probably happen eventually if he and Wendy were going to be friends outside work. He sighed inwardly, telling himself to not be upset. He didn't know the guy at all and it wasn't like he had any sort of history with Wendy that justified him being jealous. Whatever possessed him to feel so threatened was startling and he didn't like it. Dipper grabbed the cord of his necklace and strung it up, starting to bite and chew on it.

“This weekend, a bunch of us are going to get together.”

“I'm not good with parties...”

“It's not a party exactly, just hanging out. You and Mabel should come.”

“Uh... I'll think about it. Mabel will probably-definitely say, yes.” Dipper gnawed away on the cord, distracted by the way his gut twisted, eating itself, a cold depressed feeling making a home deep inside him. He told himself it was fine, and that none of it mattered in the end. He'd get over this little hiccup of a crush in a matter of days. Apparently his feelings didn't want to take his advice.

“Dude, you're going to break a tooth on that thing if you're not careful.”

Dipper hummed, confused for a moment about what Wendy was talking about, but realized quickly that she meant his necklace. He spat out the cord and licked his lips. “Uh.. right. Sorry, bad habit,” he said.

“I like it. Minus the spit of course.”

For a second he thought she meant his chewing habit, but he looked at his necklace and mentally slapped himself for being dumb. He laughed awkwardly as he played with the crystal at the end.

“Mabel made it. It's just one of her little charms... She makes them all the time, for anything you can think of. She's actually going to start selling them here once she's made enough of them. They, uhm... _usually_ they work really well.”

'Not this one,' he thought. 'Not well enough.'

“That's super cool.” Wendy leaned in to take a closer look. “What's yours for?”

Dipper gripped the crystal tightly, holding it to his body as if he could hide it inside his chest. “Luck...” he lied, thoroughly embarrassed.

“Does it work?”

Dipper shrugged. “Hasn't come up... Haven't really needed _luck_ yet... Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket.”

“At least it's real,” Wendy said. “You should see the crap some places sell. Jars of mashed up glitter and dirt pretending like it'll cure cancer.”

“Where the hell... who'd sell that?”

“Have you been to the Tent of Telepathy?”

“That Gleeful kid?...” Dipper blinked, curious. “I thought he was a psychic or something.”

“He's that, kind of. But he sells crap too. Not sure where he gets them, but he acts like they're the fucking holy grail and charges an arm for everything.”

“That's ridiculous.” Dipper shook his head. He crossed his arms over the counter and looked at Wendy. “All I know about him is that Stan hates him. Kinda makes sense why...”

“Oh, he does. They hate each other big time.” Wendy told him how they got into feuds every couple of months, any major holiday or season change. If there was something they could exploit and profit from, they would be at each other's throat trying to one up the other. Often it wasn't even about the money, not really. What mattered most were the bragging rights. A glorified pissing contest between a kid and a sixty-something year old man. It was sad but funny to watch, provided you didn't get dragged into it.

“What about you?” Wendy asked suddenly.

“Me?”

“Yeah, what's your magic.”

Dipper drummed his fingers on the counter. He hesitated only a little, not because he was embarrassed or afraid, but because of the lack of enthusiasm he expected from people when he told them. Regarding his own magic, he didn't find it to be impressive. Generally, in comparison to some, it was just simplistic magic. He wasn't psychic, or telepathic. He couldn't tell the future. He couldn't even make potions very well. Unless you counted homemade tea, which he only did in part because it helped occasionally with his own insomnia.

Instead of being able to create light and talk to the dead, Dipper could grow things. He could feel the life running through plants and help them grow. It was like speaking their language and communicating at times. Each living blade of grass and flower felt like an extension of his own blood and nervous system. He could make a flower bloom in the dead of winter or in a drought without a single drop of water. Sure, it was a talent but to him it wasn't extraordinary. It was just his thing...

Dipper gave a deflated chuckle. “Well...” he started, running a hand through his hair. “I make plants... grow...”

“Can you show me?”

“Well... I don't... it's not that entertaining.” He looked at his fingers, as if they could get him out of the situation. “And I don't have anything on me so...”

When Dipper looked up Wendy was drawn in close, inches away from his nose. She was staring back at him with big, excited eyes. They were bright and shining with curiosity and expectation. He looked into them for just a moment before his weak stammer cut off his ability to speak all together. For a second it felt like he was about to start sweating, nervous by how close they were and how intense she was watching him. Dipper swallowed and nodded, though he wasn't sure as to why. He pushed himself back from the counter and told her he'd be right back.

Dipper practically tripped over himself trying to cross the gift shop floor. Glad when he didn't fall flat on his face between the cash registrar and the door. He yanked the door open and jumped out into the wet and the rain without a second thought. Apparently, he came to the conclusion now that he stood ankle deep in wet weeds and grass, as long as someone had big blue eyes they could convince him to murder. They could ask him to jump off a bridge and he just might be talked into doing so.

He was a sucker. Dipper scolded himself, muttering under his breath that he was manipulated into doing this. He was weak willed and pathetic. He groaned through a long sigh, bending at the waist to look for what he was after.

The rain fell in large, fat droplets, landing against his back and exposed neck. It was cold as it wet his skin, but refreshing in many ways. The air was heavy and thick with humidity and a gentle fog rolled uphill from the lake. Dipper looked around a little bit longer. Finally, he found what he was after.

He puck a weed from a small patch and headed back inside. Shirt now damp and curl hair frizzing from the rain, Dipper was sure he made quite the picture. Sarcastically his mind supplied that he had to look like the peak example of rugged manliness. The low self-esteem in him said that he probably looked like a sad, soaked puppy. He bit his lip hard, hating himself just a little more as he reentered the gift shop.

Wendy pulled herself over the counter with a wide smile. At least she looked pleased with herself, quite proud that she'd gotten her way with only the barest amount of peer pressure. Dipper huffed, unimpressed.

“Okay!” She said as Dipper trudged back over to her, his wet sneakers squeaking against the wood flooring. “Show me, show me.”

“Alright, alright...”

He stopped in front of the counter. Dipper took a calming breath and produced the weed. He held it out for her to see, the thin stock held firmly between his thumb and forefinger. At the end of the stock was a small poky beginning of a white flower.

Wendy looked at the small weed then at Dipper. She silently urged him on, waiting for something to happen.

Dipper could feel the weed slowly dying beneath his fingertips, like a tepid pulse that was fading away. He delicately rubbed the stalk between his fingers and gave it enough magic for it to bloom before it inevitably wilted and died. The small, round flower top gave a little shuffle of movement. Its thin white curled petals stretched back, filling out until it was fully formed and plump. Dipper smiled at the small flower, he laid it across an outstretched palm and let it rest there.

“It's no psychic reading, but... I can make a clover bloom,” he said.

Dipper held out his hand, offering Wendy the flower now that it was in full bloom. Of course she took it. She spun it between her fingers and smirked and she gave the little white clover a critical once over.

“Well, colour me impressed, Dipper.” Wendy sat back in her chair, still looking at the little flower like he'd done something amazing and never seen before. “Can't say a boy's ever given me flowers before either.”

“No?” Dipper asked, voice raising. For a moment he regretted picking a weed over another flower.

“Yeah, well, I'm also not that type of girl. Still, it's very sweet.” Wendy laughed a little. “Thank you.”

Damn, he felt played, like the joke was on him. However, it wasn't mean or mocking. It was funny and felt like something friends did. He wasn't being rejected, it was being accepted by someone. It was heart warming and it left Dipper feeling lighter in a sense, like his chest wasn't so heavy and weighed down with doubt and disappointment. He cut his loses and accepted that maybe he needed a friend more than a crush, and Wendy seemed like a good friend to have.

Dipper laughed, a genuine laugh that actually felt really good for his soul. It was bright and happy. Dipper shoved his hands into his jean pockets and smiled.

It took until the evening for the rain to stop. It didn't clear up in time to see the sunset, the sky remaining clouded over and dark even as the rain was swept out of town. Dipper sat on the drying porch, its wooden steps patchy with moisture. He was quietly enjoying the night air, feeling the chilled breeze pass through the yard. It brought with it the smell of damp tree bark and moss. He was a little discouraged that he wasn't going to be able to see the stars but the distance setting sun was casting a purple and blue hue behind the thick rain clouds like a back lit curtain. He watched as the wind moved the clouds along and hoped that tomorrow would be a nicer day weather wise.

Dipper stretched out his long legs. He'd taken his wet sneakers off hours ago now, choosing instead to wander the shack and yard barefoot. The damp earth felt good on his skin, refreshing and light after a couple really hot days. He scattered the gravel with his toes, playing around as he sat there.

Off in the lawn, there were crickets starting to chirp and sing. The sound helped him remember camping up here when he was younger. Long forgotten, distance memories of childhood summer vacations. He knew of them, knew they happened, but it had been too long to recall any real details. Still, the sounds and smells of the backyard were familiar to him.

He stretched back with his hands and relaxed. Dipper took another full lung and let it out in a long, quiet scream of built up tension and anxiety. This whole week had been so overwhelming and busy. Too full of people and things, things to see and things to do. He'd been dragged around by Mabel, his uncles, and he was tired. He knew this wasn't technically a vacation, that his parents sent him up to work a summer job. So, at the end of a day, he should be tired. However, knowing this didn't make him any less stressed about it.

He shook his head clear and looked out into the yard. Dipper knew he'd adjust. It would just take a little time. At least these quiet nights were his own, able to sit in the glow of the porch light and relax in the yard alone.

The odd swirling sensation of butterflies were still making his gut tight. It had disrupted his appetite at dinner, enough that everyone noticed. They all looked at him and asked all sorts of questions about how he was feeling. Dipper hadn't wanted to talk about it then. He blamed it on late afternoon snacking. That he'd filled up on chips from the vending machine and wasn't overly hungry any more. A reasonable excuse, even though it was a lie. He couldn't help it though. The last thing Dipper wanted to do was sit at a table in front of his uncles and Mabel and tell them how he'd been shot down by the first crush he'd had in probably years. That would have been mortifying.

Love was a weird thing, Dipper decided. It was so sporadic and unpredictable, almost chaotic. He hadn't asked to like Wendy. It had just happened out of no where, and seemed to go away almost as quickly. She'd been so easy to talk to, pretty, and it made Dipper feel all nervous inside. He knew it wouldn't last and that it was only a crush, but the feeling was nice. And honestly, he was glad to know he was still capable of being attracted to someone. It had been a while since his last crush-like thing that he thought it wasn't for him. Like he wasn't someone worth loving or deserved being loved. He still thought so, in a way.

Thinking about it made the necklace against his collarbone feel heavy, like it weighed fifty pounds. The stupid charm was suppose to bring him love, not get him dumped before anything could even happen.

Dipper sighed. Perhaps even Mabel's best intentions couldn't find him someone. Charms and spells were great and all, magic was powerful, but you couldn't make something happen from nothing. Even with love spells. You couldn't really force someone to love anyone, even with magic. If there was no emotions to amplify, it wasn't going to work plain and simple. It'd still be nice though, he thought as he played with the cord. He debated taking it off all together. Pink wasn't really his colour.

Dipper blinked, staring out over the backyard. He hadn't noticed until now that the crickets had stopped chirping. Not just, a few of them, but all of them. The whole yard was dropped into pure silence, heavy and still, like time had been stopped. Even the wind felt absent, leaving behind the noting but an eerily calm bubble that felt hollow and empty.

Slowly Dipper looked about, confused over the sudden change in atmosphere. He held his breath expecting something to come crashing through the silence. In one fluid motion, Dipper stood. It was a cautiously slow movement, inching onto his feet, trying to make as little sound as possible.

His eyes fell on the woods. They were dark, densely blocking any lingering rays of daylight that poked through the rain clouds. The trees formed a massive wall of blackness, a void, blank black-hole the grew as the sun set. As hard as he tried, Dipper could see movement in the darkness, no animal or otherwise which he hopes scared the crickets. He saw nothing but thick dark trees.

He took a shaking breath and let it out, chest shaking with an uneasy sense of fear. It was like the darkness was looking back at him, as if there were no animals or even a person lurking somewhere in the woods, but that the shadows themselves were watching him, meeting his eye in a strong hold. He couldn't look away.

A sudden pressure to his ears made Dipper's head spin, the same pressure as being dunked into a deep pool, the water filling his ears and pressing on the drum. He swayed on his feet, head rocking to the side. For a moment he thought of sitting down, until the dizzy feeling in his head passed, but Dipper couldn't find it in him to move even his fingers. His limbs were rigid and stiff, hanging heavy at his sides.

He should be scared. It wasn't normal. However, the odd weight to his arms was oddly soothing. It was like being held in a tight embrace. Enveloped and possessed. Dipper wanted to relax into the feeling, wishing he could let the shadows themselves support him and carry his body away to wherever they cared to go. Dipper closed his eyes and let out a calm breath. The wind blew a soft breath back at him in response, tickling the hair at the base of his neck.

There was a loud wooden bang. Dipper's eyes shot open in surprise. The noise knocked the air from his lungs, throwing him forward on his toes. He gasped.

“Dipper?” Ford's voice was calling to him but it sounded so far away.

Dipper turned sharply, almost falling over as he did so. His knees were wobbling, weak and unsteady for some reason.

“What are you doing?” There was concern in his uncle's voice that Dipper didn't quite understand.

It was then that Dipper noticed that he was standing across the lawn, only a few strides off from the fence that marked off their yard and the woods. He had no memory of crossing the grass, no sense of time or feeling that he had walked so far. It was like he'd been under some sort of trance, sleepwalking even. Dipper blinked, unsure of himself for a moment. He swallowed before trying to speak.

“Nothing...” his voice broke a bit, a spike of fear getting to him. On shaking legs, Dipper started to make his way back across the lawn, fighting to urge to run away from the treeline and the shadows they hid. He took quick glances over his shoulder, feeling like someone was following him, watching him.

Ford was standing on the porch watching him come back. There was a look on his face that said he didn't quick believe Dipper, however he said nothing and made no accusations. It was only an expression, hidden behind thick rimmed glasses and distance. Still, he watched with a close eye that was judging and calculative. Dipper felt like he was a bug about to be pinned to a board it was such a level stare.

Dipper stepped up to the porch. He swallowed, ran his hands through his hair awkwardly and smiled a lopsided half smirk. “What's up?” he asked casually. What else was he to do, Dipper had no explanation for what just happened. The last thing he wanted to do was feel paranoid and crazy over literally nothing.

Ford lifted a strung together set of bells. “I came out to hang these up,” he said.

Dipper nodded. Bells on a door were to ward off negative or bad spirits, energies. It was a method of protection. Though he wasn't sure why they would need such a thing.

“Oh...” Dipper climbed the few steps as Ford threaded the cord around the screen door's handle and tied them in place. “Why?”

“It's nothing you should be alarmed over, Dipper. But... As of late, I've just found the energy around town to be, changing.”

'Vague', Dipper thought to himself. He also didn't exactly find this comforting. If anything, the indirect answer made him more curious and wary.

“Changing?” he repeated. “Changing, how? How... how so?

Ford turned to him, looking him over again with an intense gaze. He frowned a little, brow knitting together. “Have you been feeling alright, Dipper? I only ask because your aura is rather... muddled,” he said.

“Yeah,” Dipper said back quickly. “Yeah, I'm fine. Maybe a little tired but, yeah... I'm good.”

“Very well.” Ford adjusted his glasses on his nose. He intentionally never answered Dipper's question. Instead he got the door, opening it for them to head back inside. The little string of bells jingled together lightly as the door swung open. “It's getting late. I think you should come inside now anyway.”

“Sure.” Dipper didn't argue. Instead he stepped into the kitchen first, followed by uncle. Together they went inside for the night. Ford firmly closed the door behind them, locking the shadows outside from coming through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of world building, little bit of dialogue practice.
> 
> Also, I'm trying a thing! I like to use pinterest to find references or inspiration for scenes and general aesthetic vibes. And this may only interest me and no one else. But I'm gonna drop the occasional link in my notes whenever relevant. Edited: I've never left links before, so they were finicky. They worked for me but no one else I guess? So I'll just leave the full url and maybe they will help. If not, let me know.  
> Dipper reference https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/376121006380686146/  
> chapterone https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/622341242244046761/  
> chaptertwo https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/172684966945220478/  
> chapterthree https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/609745237041247972/


	4. Chapter 4

A breathy sigh, drawn out into a low moan. A shiver. Back arching fully from the damp grass in a long slim curve. The cool, wet fabric of his shirt stuck and clung to his back where the soil and wet ground had soaked through. It tickled along his heated skin, the light dampness sticking or peeling away in patches. Dipper wriggled, back bent deep. Another vacant moan caught in his throat, stuck somewhere between uncomfortable and all too pleased. His mind was a haze, lost in the feeling of his body as he lay among the grass.

He wanted to roll over, to pull himself from the tall grass. There was a thought to do so, but he was struck by the agonizingly slow build of pressure in his lower half, teasing to amount in a final climax of need and want. The brief though of stopping quickly left his mind all together as a new shiver left him writhing, back falling to lay flat against the ground. He was completely entranced by the lucid pleasure. Dipper swallowed thickly and managed to blink his eyes open towards the sky.

Misting rain fell into his eyes causing them to water and run. Dipper blinked as his lashes became heavy. Through his blurring sight, he could still see the wisp thin clouds overhead, how they parted to revel bright blue skies and the shining gold sun.

The sun shower fell with a gentle touch, rustling the grass around him. A small smile touched his lips briefly before they were dropped open in a breathy gasp. A spark of pleasure wound up his spine, tugging him deeper into a blissfully delirious state. Dipper shifted, legs parting wide, heels slipping in puddles of gathered water. He could barely tell up from down, if he were drowning or flying. His body felt weightless and simultaneously impossibly heavy.

Dipper sucked in a quick breath through his nose. The fresh scent of rain clouded his senses, mixed with a distance perfume, one he recognized by couldn't place. It wasn't flowers but like freshly cut wood, damp and fragrant.

The rain drummed against the ground in a steady rhythm. It blended and synchronized with each beat of Dipper's heart, thrumming together in a continuous pattern. He could feel it pulse against the ground, vibrating up into him. As his breathing grew faster, the rain fell in a quick flutter against the blades of grass and wild flowers. The sound was loud, indistinguishable from the heavy pulse of blood beating in his ears.

Dipper dropped his hands to the soil, nails digging into the ground with an overwhelming need to hold something solid, a figure or shape, a mass he wished to cling to tightly and never let go. The dirt gave way under his fingertips, crumbling and turning to mud in his palms. They couldn't find that solid form to hold and still his uncontrollable writhing.

He kept shifting, lifting his hips, back wanting to arch off the ground again. The hem of his shirt rolled up over his stomach, exposing the skin to the cold rain. With each little wriggled it fell higher until it bunched at his ribs. In his haze and imagination, Dipper swore he could feel hands pushing the shirt up over his skin, hands with long thick fingers that grazed and pressed into his sides. But when he looked, all Dipper could see was the long stretch of his stomach down to his bare hipbones and the waistband of his soaked sweatpants.

Impatient and greed, Dipper let one of his hands rest over the narrow structure of his hip, lightly playing with the drawstring of his pants. He entertained the idea of slipping them down to expose himself to the air, to lay naked in the grass, but stopped before he could even pull the string loose. Not by choice, more as if, he'd been told to stop by some unseen force. A subconscious suggestion which he obeyed. His hand fell away, coming to lay in the grass still, like it was pinned down and now being held in place. Dipper moaned, frustrated and wanting.

An intense wave of pleasure warmed his whole body. It turned his moan to a lightheaded whine, high-pitched in the back of his throat. Heels of his feet dug into the ground, Dipper arched back painfully, head thrown to the side. His voice cracked. When he blinked he saw stars, like the rain had turned to glittering lights.

It was suffocating. It was all consuming madness making him want to claw away from it, yet let it take him over and do whatever it pleased. Dipper couldn't handle it, overwhelmed and shaking. His own breath choked him and each gasp was less from the pleasure and more for a real breath of air. Half out of his mind with delirium and half lost in pleasure, Dipper forcefully rolled onto his stomach.

He'd had enough. Shaking, struggling to move, Dipper pulled his legs up under him and tried to make it to his knees. A solid push brought him to his elbows. His head felt dizzy. The rain no longer felt delightfully refreshing against his skin, but cold and painful.

That familiar scent from before became more clear and noticeable in his lungs. It was warm on the breeze, filling him and clouding his mind. The scent belonged to that of cedar wood, like freshly lit incense. There was a sharp quality to it, woody and perfect. Dipper breathed it in greedily, suddenly in love with that smell.

Whatever force or ghost that took control of him was there, pressing on his back and bending him down to the grass. He went willingly, weak jointed and pliable. Dipper let his cheek rest in the grass, the wet blades tickling his face. They swayed in his limited vision, gentle and calming, back and forth. It was strangely hypnotic. His panic started to subside from his breathing, though his muscles held firm and tense.

Dipper's eyes fluttered, being soothed by a sensation of fingers gently combing through his hair, tracing down the back of his neck with long stroking motions. He couldn't find the energy or will to fight it. It was too warm against his cold wet skin. More pressure was applied between his shoulder blades, pinning him down to the grass. It was the comfort Dipper couldn't quite find before, a solid security that held him still.

A breeze, not unlike a soft breath from a person, blew across Dipper's neck. It brushed over his ear in such a soft, tender wisp. In that breeze, hidden somewhere to the point of nonexistent, was a voice. Dipper couldn't hear it, but he knew it was there somehow. Something told him it was. There was a throaty, hoarse voice leaking into his mind, speaking to him and calming him. It praised him, mocked him, told him a million little secrets and promises the were empty and hollow.

Dipper gave into the voice completely, believing each little fantasy it left in his imagination. That raspy whisper of a voice kissed his mind and offered him love. Though no words were actually spoken, he heard them.

Dipper blinked his eyes as the rain fell into them. He could still see the lights, the sun shining off the rain drops like glitter, dusting the field in a diamond coated hue. The little drops falling from his lashes destroyed everything he saw. Streaks of colour and light fragments. Dipper glanced back over his shoulder. He expected to find nothing above him but the icy blue sky and the falling rain. He squinted, wanting to find something there.

Dipper tensed, nails digging into the dirt. His shoulder hunched, and a grunt was low in his throat as he tried to push himself up from the ground. He barely moved. A spark of fear started up inside him, not liking the sudden feeling of being trapped. The heated colour of his cheeks drained.

Dipper clawed at the grass. With an aggressive shove he forced himself forward. His nails turned the dirt, mud coating his nails. He struggled and scratched, wrestled to pull himself across the ground.

For all his fretful attempts, Dipper only moved a few inched.

He whipped his head around. Out of the corner of his eye, lost in his peripheral where the line between real and illusion blurs and blends, a shadow loomed over him. Dipper let out a surprised cry, cracked and broken. Just as he found it, the shadow retreated and disappeared. It had only been a long thin shape at the very edge of his vision, but Dipper had seen something. Every time he turned to see more, it vanished like a trick of the light.

The pressure on his back lifted. The moment he felt the weight shift, Dipper rolled to the side. Protective and fearful, he inched back on his hands trying to put distance between what he thought he saw. He ran a hand over his face, rubbing away the rain from his eyes. Heavy, soaked curls fell forward, clumped with dirt. Dipper pushed them away. He bit his lip and blinked slowly. For a moment he was cautiously still and held his breath as he chased the shadows in his vision. He thought of calling out into the empty field, demanding to know who was there.

A small gust of wind ran along the back of his neck, rustling his hair. He scrunched his shoulder in response, wanting to deny the touch altogether. He shook himself, refusing to relax and be pulled back into a sense of submissive arousal.

A hand, solid and real, wrapped around the back of Dipper's neck.

He gasped loudly.

Dipper jumped, body jack knifing as he woke up there. Limbs flailed as he he tried to grab onto something real and grounding. He gasped for breath as a scream logged itself in his throat, however cut short and came out croaking and dry. As he shot up in bed Dipper aggressively kicked his legs, scared of the small weight against his lap. The quilt was tossed away until it barely hung from the mattress.

He sat panting, hands making fists into the bed below him, hoping that alone could hold him upright. For a long moment he sat this way, breathing heavily out into the quiet room around him. Dipper bent and pulled his knees in close t his chest.

The attic was dark, its surreal quality and unfamiliarity when cast in shadow left Dipper convincing himself that he was safe. He looked around him and purposefully had to distinguish each individual piece of furniture and corner. It served to remind him that he was awake, that this was his room, and that he was alright. He groaned slightly, swallowing in discomfort from a dry, sore throat before licking his lips. The quiet, stillness of the attic was only broken by his laboured breathing and he sighed, confirming that there were no ghosts or spirits around him hiding in the dark.

It was almost funny in its childishness. Dipper could hardly remember the last time he'd been scared from a dream, let alone of the dark. He wasn't entirely sure what had even caused that. Dipper touched his neck, rubbing the heated skin above his shirt collar. The expanse of his neck was hot to the touch was coated in a thick layer of sweat which left his palm clammy and gross.

This wasn't usual summer sweat, but heavy and smelt of arousal. Dipper stiffened awkwardly noticing how his body was too sensitive to his ow touch. The uncomfortable way he had to shift his legs and sit more sprawled than he wanted. Everything was damp, from his skin to his pyjamas. His t-shirt clung to his back, sticky and cold. And his sweat pants chaffed and rubbed, damp with more than just sweat. Dipper swore softly into the quiet room. His hushed voice was barely loud enough for his own ears, beat out by the intense rush of blood in his ears, pounding away through his head as the adrenaline wore through his system.

His dream was becoming a fleeting memory, piece disappearing with each passing second like loose sand spilling through cracks. It left him less with a real memory and more of an idea, a feeling that lingered inside him, one of being watched like pray but also that of affection as he recalled hands carefully exploring his body with determined need. Dipper dropped his chin to his chest and sighed, low and frustrating louder than he should. A part of him wanted to yell aloud, to pull at his hair that he had to wake up this way. It wasn't every night he woke up with a weird fear boner, but he also wasn't in the mood for such things. From what he could even remember, it was a good dream, until it wasn't. Though he couldn't say what had been so scary as to wake him up so suddenly.

It was definitely a very odd mixture of emotions that he couldn't place. He bit his lip and let himself fall backwards on his bed, head hitting the pillow a little harder than expected. The impact startled him and chased away any last ounce of tiredness, completely waking him up to the late hour of the night to leave him staring at the ceiling blindly. A minute or two passed this way. No sound could be heard through the house, very little came in through the open window to outside. It was the dead of night and he was the only one up.

Dipper tried to find a comfortable way to lay but everything rubbed his skin raw and unbearable. He rolled, thrashed and whimpered as his clothes bunched in deep creases around his limbs. As his shirt road up, the cold sweat of his back was exposed to the air. It sent a chill up his back, somehow breaking the heat of the room as if it was nothing. The soft breeze which rustled his curtains felt like a wintry touch to his ribs. Along with it came the uneasy sense of presence. Dipper rolled over toward the window, looking about the shadows for something that wasn't there. He did his best to ignore whatever fear that plagued his mind, telling himself it was just the room which looked off in the dark.

Wide awake and tossing, Dipper's distracted hands played with the drawstring of his sweatpants. He twisted it around his fingers, ever so slightly daring to untie the knot which held them closed. All the while his eye chased after the shadows as if he expected to find something there. However, nothing stood in the dark. He was being silly, Dipper told himself, paranoid even. This was his room, despite being at his uncle's place. He shouldn't feel too awkward about doing anything, no point in feeling guilty. After all, it was impossible that he'd hold back all summer long.

Dipper told himself it would be a helpful distraction, something to take his mind of the uncomfortable feeling of being watched in the dark by unseen eyes. He bit his lip and awkwardly slipped a hand below the waistband of his sweatpants. The mood was off and a bit forced, but his body reacted exactly as expected, overly sensitive and impatient.

If he cared enough, Dipper could have looked up porn on his phone, like any other normal teenage boy, but honestly, he was more so in a hurry for relief and didn't want to drag out the activity. A solid five minutes was all he needed if he was attentive. After that, maybe he could get back to sleep.

It didn't help at all that there was a strange tenseness in his mood, constantly thinking that he was about to be caught. It put him right back to being thirteen and sharing a room with his sister. Even then he wasn't exactly subtle and this lead to being extremely embarrassed more than once. So, as if to convince himself further that he was alone, Dipper's eyes kept chasing the shadows of his room and diligently listening for any creak or shuffle of sounds outside his door.

His quick five minutes turned into over fifteen of tense defeat and he had half a mind to call it quits for the night. The inside fabric of his pants were already slick and damp with sweat, unappealing to lay around in. Frustrated, Dipper closed his eyes tight to block out the sight of his room. He turned his head, tossing it against the pillow. He tried with some struggle to mentally find some kind of attractive image, any fantasy that could help. But each conjured though were lackluster, boring or awkwardly forced. Not even his typical turn-ons were doing it for him.

As inappropriate as it might have been, something that came with a loaded helping of guilt, Dipper even tried to bring up his fleeting crush on Wendy. He tried, picturing her in his head with far less clothing than she'd been wearing at work, wondering what she'd look like with her hair knotted and dishevelled in bed with him. It's hopeful charms and allure died immediately. Dipper grimace. His hand immediately stilled as he felt his stomach turn.

He heaved a groaned and opened his eyes once more. That was it. He was done with this. If he'd been looking for something to quickly kill the mood, he probably couldn't have done better than that.

Dipper gave up. He lay on his back, cross his arms over his chest and stared upwards. Whatever was left of his arousal was dwindling fast. Soon enough he might even find enough motivation to get up to change. However, for a long breath, he remained on his back with his eyes fixed on the dark ceiling. His busy mind thought back to his dream, not that there was much to find there. He couldn't seem to remember it at all, not what had happened or what had even startled him awake. What was left was just a feeling deep in his bones.

Calmness, a lightheaded pleasure sweeping through him. The dream left Dipper thinking of some ghost of an emotion he wasn't sure existed, like feeling drunk while being completely sober. A contradictory, absurd, irritating idea. Yet, this is what came to find when he tried to remember his dream - surreal, abstract fragments of a single feeling.

Dipper sighed softly, trying to relax as he closed his eyes. He honestly tried to recall anything from it but was met with his own imagination. He pictured himself on his back, sprawled and vulnerable to the whims of some illusion of affection. He'd never been the recipient of strong affection or physical attention. Fantasies typically followed hetero-normative scenarios where he'd been the dominant partner. But here in his head, he played the part of a submissive body, pliable and open for someone else to enjoy. Whoever that could be...

He didn't oppose such ideas. In fact, Dipper wanted someone to hold him. He welcomed large hands to skirt up his sides, drawing symbols into his flesh with lingering, attentive touches. Dipper let out a soft gasp, back bending to the idea of another person's exploration of his own body. He invited the feeling, even if it were his own hands that graved his hips in a subconscious act of desire.

A light flutter of his heart had him biting his lip softly, tricked back into arousal. The curtains rustled in the breeze. The hot summer air, still damp with humidity from the rain, brushed into the room carrying with it a warm wooden smell that hinted upon perfume. Dipper sucked in a breath and sighed with pure contentment.

He could smell a quality to the air that didn't belong, a musk or spice that was foreign to the mold and dust of the attic. It stirred his blood, a flush coming over his cheeks. Dipper's fingers crept closer to the band of his sweatpants.

There was the abrupt creak of floorboards. It was loud in the dead of night and Dipper immediately jumped to a sitting position. He gasped, looking around as if he was sure someone inside the room had made the noise. Or, less threatening, that an animal had prowled in through the open window. His heart hammered away in his chest, loud in his ears. Dipper rubbed at his face.

“Fuck...” he swore.

Nothing in the dark room was out of place, not a speck of dust disturbed. He listened closely, waiting for any further movement or squeak and croak of loose floorboards. Reasonably, Dipper attributed the noise to a relative, maybe Mabel wandering down to the kitchen for a midnight snack. She did that some times. But outside his door, he could hear nothing from the hall or the downstairs. The shack was silent.

Dipper let out the lung full he had been holding, groaning with a small broken laugh. He ran a shaking hand through his hair and told himself that the noise came from some animal outside, a squirrel or raccoon running across the porch. It was nothing to be scared of. Still, his heart was beating quick with each breath. With a long, clumsy swing of his legs, Dipper rolled himself over the side of the old bed. His bare feet slapped down on the floor. This was ridiculous, he told himself. He was practically an adult. There was no reason for him to be acting scared of the dark.

Grumbling low, feeling frustrated and embarrassed, he stood in the dark quietly looking about. Nothing was there, as expected. Dipper blew off the noise and its source. He didn't care what it was. Stooping down, he grabbed the discarded quilt and dropped it back on the bed.

From where he stood, he could feel the breeze against the bare skin of his forearm. As nice and airy as it was to the stuffy attic space, Dipper didn't want any further noises waking him up tonight. He sighed and dragged his feet over to the window, deciding to close it before returning to bed.

Pulling the curtain to the side, he felt the unobstructed breeze coming across the roof. It was still warm, but no where near as stifling as the attic. It didn't smell like mildew or rot. For a moment, Dipper stood there and let the wind cool off his heated face, drying some of the lingering sweat which still coated his forehead like a second skin. He let out a sigh, calmed by the breath of fresh air.

Looking down into the backyard, everything was as it should be. Though it was too dark to see very much in detail, Dipper could see the wide stretch of lawn and the distant tree line where the woods began. He could even see the old fence which marked the property. It was a shame there were no stars out to see. The rain clouds were sticking around to block the night sky. Dipper huffed and reached out a hand to close the window.

That's when he froze, curious for a second as he thought he saw movement far off across the yard. He leaned forward, pressing a hand to the glass. Surely it was an animal. Dipper was about ready to leave it be but found himself trying to find the shape he saw below him in the yard. He frown, squinting into the darkness.

There was no sign of it any more. There wasn't much of anything. Dipper watch still, waiting on bated breath and trying not to blink. Everything was so calm and quiet. The growing anticipation build up and he hoped to find something spontaneously spring free from the tree line and run across the grass, like a jump scare in a horror movie.

When nothing happened, Dipper almost gave up. Then, he found what he'd been looking for. Along the dividing fence, just off their property, was a tall unmoving figure. He would have missed it if it weren't for the smallest spark of moonlight filtering through the clouds. It was definitely not a raccoon... Dipper swallowed a dry mouthful of air. He stiffened slightly, unsure of what to do. If someone had wandered into their backyard, he should tell his uncles... right... Dipper bit his lip. He did nothing back stare.

The shape was tall and slim, standing over the fence like a giant. The shadows did nothing but accentuate the lanky build, stretching it against the trees further. All in black, whether it was clothing or just the darkness of night, Dipper couldn't make out much more in detail than its overall height. He wasn't sure if the person, because he was positive that it was in fact a person, was accidentally there or had some purpose standing in their yard. They could be a burglar, or dangerous.

Dipper's breath hitched. For a second, irrationally, he felt that the person standing in the corner of their lawn was watching him some how. At that distance, in the dark, though he couldn't make out a face or anything, Dipper felt eyes on him, fixed and scrutinizing. A shiver ran down his spine as a coldness set into him. He felt pinned down, surrounded and suffocated by a set of eyes that he couldn't even see. Dipper almost felt lightheaded when the breeze carried in the gentle scent of cedar but this time it was laced with the strong unpleasantness of cigarettes.

Scared, Dipper slammed the window shut and drew the curtains closed.

He should tell his uncles. He should run downstairs right now and wake them up. But when Dipper pulled the curtain back enough to peek out into the yard, the shape that frightened him was no where to be seen in the yard. The tree line was vacant of movement or anything resembling a person. The sudden vanishing act, after the shape had been so still and calm, made Dipper some how think it was all in his head, like his dreams were leaking out into his waking reality. He almost wanted to tell himself that he was hallucinating or that he was over tired, but he was absolutely positive he had seen someone there.

He stiffened. Caution, shaking and unsure, Dipper dropped the curtain back into place. Passively he retreated from the window, choosing complete ignorance over what he saw. His feet shuffled, tripping over his pant leg as he got to the bed. A few unsteady steps got him there where he fell forward. Dipper collapsed onto his side. He pulled the quilt up around his shoulders tightly. The fabric was aggressively scrubbed over his face as he tried to get a grip.

Dipper curled up, trying to make himself as small as possible. He didn't even try to sleep again. For the rest of the night, Dipper lay awake staring at the curtains. Periodically he would hold his breath and count the seconds of pure silence that ticked by, anticipating a creak from the floorboards or staircase. Nothing came though, and not until the first rays of sunlight came trickling in around the curtain's edge did Dipper closed his eyes and fell into a light dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight shorter chapter, sorry for that. It was a mood.
> 
> [Mood Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ihbjpRJCj0Q) Retroactively also being the unofficial theme song for Ream Flash Pull! (If you've read that...)


	5. Chapter 5

Exhausted, he was mentally and physically exhausted to the point of delusional, at least that was how it felt. Mostly, Dipper was distracted and unable to focus. It was like his brain was fogged over in a semi transparent screen, letting bits of coherent thought to filter through. If he wasn't staring blankly into space, he was tripping over his own feet or knocking over a display in the gift shop. By mid morning he was barely keeping himself upright, yawning uncontrollably and leaning over the counter trying not to sleep. He was utterly fried. This did not go unnoticed by his uncle in the slightest.

After Dipper ad knocked over the stand of postcards for the second time, Stand had up and kicked him from the shop, telling him to take a nap before he destroyed the place. Dipper didn't argue with him, more than happy to drag himself from the florescent lighting and outside into the fresh air and sunshine. He had to backtrack to his room for a few things, his mind offering up a brief moment of clarity that suggested to him an idea, a good one too. Dipper wandered out to his greenhouse, a bowl of sea salt in hand and his mind loosely set on a goal.

He placed a bowl of pink sea salt down on one of the shelves. Still distracted and tired, his fingers stroked along the smooth rim of the bowl. After last night, he'd felt preoccupied with thoughts of spirits and uneasy sense of dread. He'd gotten so wrapped up in his own thoughts that it was becoming hard to separate what had been a dream and what had been real. Seeing someone in the yard felt more like a bad dream now, misleading him to think that it had all been in his head. Dipper's anxiety leaked through his system and made him visibly twitch.

There wasn't a constant feeling but Dipper often believed he was being watched by something, somewhere. Convinced that it may not be safe, he was now compelled to draw a line along the fence in salt, hoping to ward off his fears and protect him from whatever he thought he saw waiting in the shadows. The unknown following him and stalking him at night, oddly calling to him like a siren. It was unnerving and scary.

As irresponsible as it was, he hadn't told anyone about potentially seeing someone in the yard last night, although knowing full well that he should. It didn't matter if it was something magical or just a man, it was kind of important that he tell his uncles. But, for some reason, Dipper held his tongue and kept it to himself. He didn't even mentioning it to his sister or that he had a bad dream.

It wasn't as if there hadn't been plenty of opportunity. From the moment Dipper dragged himself down to the kitchen before his work ship in the gift shop, Ford had been up having his coffee. He had been alone in the kitchen, reading the paper and finishing off a second mug full as usual. Their morning banter was stalled and awkward despite how much more comfortable Dipper was with his great uncles. But with his dream fresh in his mind and the distracting thoughts of the man in the yard, he couldn't find the words. He stammered over the simplest things and more so nodded when asked about his sleep. He'd become inexplicably tongue tied.

After a little coffee, his tongue felt looser that he tried to tell Ford, more or less. Still, he was cut off by his uncle checking the time then frowning that Dipper wasn't even close to ready to start work. He scolded him in a way that was uniquely playfully to Ford, accusing him that he knew how to water a garden but not himself. Also, pointing out that he believed Dipper was wearing the same shirt he'd had on for the last three consecutive days, and probably slept in for just as long.

Dipper went bright pink from the tip of his nose to his ears. Embarrassed he went to run his fingers through his hair and got them all stuck of tangles and knots. Ford told him to go shower before he was late. Dipper swallowed down the last of his coffee and went to do just that, ignoring how he felt a tight choking sensation in his throat. He couldn't quite understand why he didn't want to tell his uncle, or why he couldn't, but Dipper left the kitchen without even as hinting toward last night.

He told himself that he'd just been scaring himself, that it had been nothing more than a dream. A lost hiker was a good enough explanation in his mind to chase away the immediate fear and concern. Enough so that he could push the whole experience out of the way long enough for him to shower and change for work. Honestly, the last thing Dipper wanted to hear about from his uncles to explain what he saw was stories of previous experiences with drunken, potentially dangerous, trespassers hanging around the woods. Maybe it was best not to overthink for once.

At least he tried to do that. Dipper had showered, changed into a pair of shorts and a white t-shirt, slapped a blue and white hat down over his damp hair and headed into work for Stan. The morning to follow had been nothing but a mess tired day dreams and clumsy behaviour.

Dipper looked off through the greenhouse windows in the general direction of the treeline. Time and anxiety muddled his memory, and he found that he couldn't quite saw for certain where he saw the man standing last night. Now that it was day, there wasn't much more to see. All he saw was a thick wall of tree trunks, tufts of bright green leaves and circled with tall stalks of grass. The type of scenic foliage the was typical to hiking trails and camping grounds.

He felt a little silly. A part of him expected to come out to find burnt carvings in the trees, threatening runes and scratched up bark. Or maybe a trampled patch of wet grass from where the man stood. Trash even, a stamped out cigarette. Unfortunately there was nothing suspiciously out of place. Dipper half hoped there would be, just because then he'd feel a little less crazy and delusional, like he hadn't made up the whole thing and it wasn't his over active imagination.

Dipper sighed, fiddling with the bowl under his fingers. Little granules of sea salt trickled about inside the bowl, rolling around like iridescent sand. He was so tired and the over thinking wasn't helping. Lost in thought, Dipper just kept staring off into space again, blank faced and distracted.

“Hey brother!”

Dipper let out a loud yelp, his voice pitching high and cracked. He grabbed for the bowl on reflex, pulling it aggressively closer. The bow, scraped against the wood shelve, teetering on its side. The little pile of salt inside shifted, spilling over the rim and all over the shelf. Dipper whipped his head to the side and found Mabel, bright eyed and laughing as she tried to squeeze her head in through the open window. She smiled wide over the fact she startled him, bonus point for getting to scream like a girl. She managed to stifle her laugh into a small snicker, happily to fake innocence and look at him through the window gap.

“What ya doing?”

“Holy crap, Mabel! Get out!” Dipper yelled at her, mortified by his own shrill voice. He could feel the way his nose and cheeks started to glow with a red, heated blush. He scrunched his nose up to try and keep it from turning colour. “What is it? Shouldn't you be working right now, instead of bugging me?”

“Wendy took over for a while. There wasn't much going on anyway.” Mabel laughed again. It was meant to be playful and all that but it still came off as a little mean in Dipper's opinion because it was at his own expense. She proceeded to try and shove her whole head through the window gap instead of just using the already open greenhouse door. “So, what ya doing, nerd stuff?”

“No,” he snapped with mild offence. He gathered the bowl up in his arm, trying to scoop and funnel the loose sea salt back inside. “It's none of your business. Get out of my greenhouse.”

“Technically not inside – can't get mad.”

“Yes, I can.” Dipper flicked a few scattered pieces of salt at Mable's face. They lightly landed in flecks against her skin, starling her back even when she saw them coming. Her face was pulled from the open window in a flurry of dramatic gestures to rub her cheeks clean. Dipper smiled just a little to himself and snickered, proud to at least get her off the windowsill. “Serves you right... Now, what do you want? There wasn't anyone else you could find to annoy, just me?”

Dipper set the bowl aside for now, determined to come back to it when there was less of a distraction running around the yard - meaning, his sister. He chose, instead, to pick up one of the gardening trowels his uncles left for him to use. It was old and the metal coating was a little rusted but still more than usable. There were also seeds that he wanted to plant while the ground was still damp from the yesterdays rain. As mentally preoccupied as he had been all morning, he hadn't completely forgotten about them. Mabel wouldn't be too much of a bother, buzzing around his head like a fly, provided she didn't step on anything important.

He came outside, breezing passed her as he rounded the corner of the small greenhouse. The garden that he'd dug out along its walls was still sparse, but what he planted through out their stay so far had started to fill in and give a healthy green colour to the worn ground. Dipper kept herbs and smaller flowers inside, neatly lined up in pots and planters. Outside, growing up against the wall were larger plants: lavender, hydrangeas, a small patch of transplanted wild roses, and a few barely grown stalks that would eventually become sunflowers.

Dipper still had so many things he wanted to start on. He wanted to do everything all at once and couldn't decide on what to do next. He looked over the yard, happy to see the dandelions that survive Soos' weekly attack with the lawnmower. The little yellow flowers dotted the whole yard, defiantly stretching up toward the sun.

Despite the soggy grass, Dipper dropped down to his knees. The wet blades tickled his bare legs. It was almost cold against his sun warm skin. For a moment the familiar, lingering sense of the wet chill left him frozen, abruptly paralyzed by the fractured memory of his dream. The inexplicable sense of dread sunk deep into his bones and for a moment he shivered from the cold. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

He sat stalk still, unable to feel comfortable. Something that should be refreshing and lively was all of a sudden as threatening as an uncontrolled flame. Dipper swallowed thickly, all too aware of how his throat closed up with nerve. He blinked a few times, having to remind himself to breathe.

Mabel's hand fell against his shoulder, startling him again.

Dipper could have jumped out of his literal skin when she touched him. He yelled and fell to the ground, practically throwing himself away from her. His reaction must have scared her a bit too because Mabel backed up quickly, a small squeal coming out. Though Dipper barely heard her over the rush of blood pumping through his ears, but he saw her, the confused look on her face that bordered on both guilt and concern.

They stared at one another before Dipper reached out a hand and to wave it all off, telling her he was fine. The need to deflect his own anxieties to sooth hers outweighed everything. Dipper rolled up from the ground, the back of his t-shirt damp and clinging to his skin. He shuffled at his clothes awkwardly as he at back on his heels.

“What was that?” Mabel half laughed, trying to break the weird tension with humour.

“Nothing,” he lied. “You just – I don't know – scared me...”

“All I did was touch you!”

“I know!”

Dipper bit his lip, kneeling over his garden to refocus his attention, determined to over come his nervous disposition. There was no reason to be so jumpy, he told himself aware that his hands were lightly shaking. Still, he powered on and dug a few shallow holes in the flowerbed. The dirt crumbled in large wet chunks, mud turning up and giving off an earthy scent that was fresh and real. Dipper sighed a little bit, feeling better and a little more at ease especially with company. Behind him, Mabel said something he didn't quite catch. He turned his head slightly and asked her what she was going on about.

“What's with you today,” she asked, annoyed by being ignored but still curious about his odd behaviour. “You're acting like a total space case.”

“Sorry... Didn't sleep very well.” Dipper turned back to his digging, keeping an ear out for her one sided conversation for any verbal cues that needed him to nod or hum in agreement.

“How's that different from any other day...”

It didn't matter and Dipper said nothing. With the question unanswered Mabel fell back into her reason for coming out to bother him in the first place – her simple need to hear her own voice. She moved about in circles, constantly hovering over him, peering over his shoulder whenever she felt the need to. She'd quickly get bored, spinning around again, running her fingers through her hair or playing with her multiple charm bracelets. Dipper could hear the light jingle of the jewellery with each lively gesture and turn. She was like a walking wind chime.

Dipper glanced back at her, watching as the little charms twinkled in the sunshine, a kaleidoscope of colours lighting up and shining as they moved. Mabel made a mad wave of her arms, emphasizing something she'd been talking about. He had to made himself pay attention to what she was saying, finding it far too easy to slip into his own silent mind. The only thing Dipper remembered from her ranting was that she said something about Wendy, a topic which still managed to perk his curiosity despite his previous resolve to drop any interest other than as friends. Dipper tried not to blush or seem too obvious when asking Mabel to repeat herself. The simple request, frustrated his sister and earned him an exaggerated groaning sigh before she repeated herself.

“Wendy wants us to hang out with her and her friends tomorrow night.”

“Oh, right... that...”

“I said, yes for us.”

Dipper turned around sharply, almost falling ass backwards into the flowerbed. “What? Why?”

It wasn't that he didn't want to hang out with Wendy, far from it because he still wanted to be friends with her – crush or no crush. His hesitation however came back to his own conversation with Wendy the other day when he'd been asked. He didn't know any of her friends, and Dipper had more than a little difficult fitting into a new group, especially an older one with their own internal friend workings and pack hierarchy.

Besides, Wendy was super cool and all her friends were probably the same. He was just a dorky kid in comparison to that. He didn't want to go out just to embarrass himself. In fact, he had been planning on telling Wendy that he couldn't make it, that he wasn't feeling well or that he had some things to do and couldn't go. Mabel could, if she wanted.

“No, Mabel-” he started to say more but was cut off.

“Yes. You never go out any where. It'll be fun, and she invited us. So, we're going. Even if I have to drag you, you're coming with me.” Mabel pouted and plopped down next to him, crouching low to sit on her toes. She gave him a definitive look, like she'd already made up her mind and couldn't be convinced otherwise. Her fluffy, half grown out fringe fell into her face but they were huffed at and flicked back. “You're going. End of story.”

Dipper awkwardly picked at the dirt gathered under his nails. “I don't want to. It's too many people and I don't know anyone-”

“You'll know me and Wendy. Come on, Dipper. You're excuses aren't going to work with me. So, just shut up and say yes.”

Dipper sighed and rolled his eyes, giving in with a defeated nod of the head and a nonverbal grumble. Mabel squealed, happy that she once again got her way. She threw her arms around him and gave Dipper a tight hug that he couldn't squirm his way out of. Obviously he tried to protest the hug, fidgeting and trying to push her off at the same time. It was hot and uncomfortable and they were teetering over his flowers, likely to crush the small sprouts if they weren't careful.

“Careful, Mabel, please...” Dipper shrugged his shoulder towards his ears. “I don't want you to knock me into the oleander.”

Mabel let go of him, remaining in her bend crouching position. She looked to where Dipper was shielding the small spindly looking shrug from harm with his hand. It was just off to his left, growing against the corner of the greenhouse. Still young and delicate, the plant only had a few long branches covered in skinny leaves. At the very tips were white buds that would eventually become flowers. She looked it over before hopping back a few inches to reassure him it was safe from being accidentally crushed. Dipper gave her a flustered 'thank you' before carefully sitting back on his knees.

“Be very careful with it,” Dipper said with a small gesture towards the plant. He lightly touched one of the branches, watching as the leaves rustled with life and shivered. A new leave sprang up from the branch, stretching and opening up to the sunshine. The oleander had recently been planted. He was hoping it'd take well to its new home and that by summer's end, before they left to go home, he'd get to see it tall against the greenhouse and in full bloom.

“Fragile?”

Dipper looked at her. “Huh? No... poisonous.”

“What? Dude! Why?” Mabel backed up further with caution. Her reaction made Dipper rolled his eyes again.

“It's not like poison ivy, Mabel. You'd have to eat it. And I don't expect you to do that.” He paused after saying that. “Well... you do have a history of eating glue and toothpaste... so-”

“Hey!” Mabel gave him a playful punch to the arm. She chuckled and leaned over her bent knees. “Really, why have that?”

“It keeps wild animals away from the rest of the garden,” Dipper told her. “Animals can, kind of, sense dangerous plants and wont eat around them.” Not always but it helped.

“Fluffy psychic animals.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, sure.”

Dipper smirked, finding it just a little funny. He pat at the dirt to make sure the oleander was well planted and safe. Pleased, and now with his little seed holes dug, he'd be able to finish planting what he currently had for the garden. Although this was an ever growing project that he was sure never to be finished. The little garden, if he had his way, would cover the whole yard. However, this wasn't his home. It was only temporary and Dipper felt bad that all his work wouldn't be maintained once the summer was over. He was positive of that. By next year, all his flowers would most likely be dead and gone, a memory of what he brought to life.

The summer had just begun and he was already mourning his garden. He still had a few long, hot months that'd he'd be able to work on it. So, he tried to smile, despite the sadder thoughts.

He had a lot to do and with Mabel still hovering over his shoulder, he knew the only way he'd get any work done was to appease her and get her to go away. Dipper verbally agreed to meet up with Wendy and her friends tomorrow night and to go along with whatever their plans were, even though he didn't want to. He also agreed to not to spend all day shut up in the greenhouse, that he'd come find Mabel later so they could spend some time together.

It did the trick. Mabel was happy, smiled wide, and was more than willing to leave Dipper alone for the time being, telling him that she would hold him to those promises and that if he wasn't inside by dinner she could come find him.

He nodded and waved her off, watching as she crossed the yard with a little spring in her step. He waited until Mabel disappeared through the screen door on the porch, the bells hung on the door chiming in lightly across the yard.

Dipper stood. He calmly went back inside the greenhouse, more focused on his task of gardening. He gathered the seed packets left out on the shelf. Within a few short minutes he had them evenly spread out over the dirt. The moist soil packed down under his hands perfectly, softened and warmed in the sun. Mud caked his palms and bare shines by the time he pulled himself from the flowerbed. Dipper wiped away the dirt on his shorts, uncaring of grass stains and the like.

He stretched back before a yawn over took him. It was loud and long, bringing water to his eyes. Dipper rubbed at his face until his the skin around his eyes felt raw. He knew how tired he had been from a night of next to no sleep and a morning of mild physical work. It was starting to catch up on him again. Out under the hot sun and in the fresh air, he wanted nothing more than to lay down for a nap. He picked up the gardening trowel and returned it to the shelf inside the greenhouse. Another yawn came over him.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt, for just a little while, to sit and mediate. He didn't intend to sleep. There was still the bowl of salt sitting near by that he planned to line the fence with, still unnerved by spirits and intruders. Knowing some protection was in place would help him sleep far better tonight. He should have brought it up with Ford at breakfast. Out of anyone, he would know what to do. Dipper remembered the bells being put out last night and the suspicious concern that had been written all over his uncle's face.

Right now, Dipper yawned again. He was surprisingly tired and keeping his eyes open was becoming a growing challenge. He let himself sit on the floor, pressed back into the corner of the walls. He gather the bowl of salt into his lap and told himself that he'd only be there for a few short minutes to breathe and steady himself.

However, a few minutes stretched out to ten, then fifteen.

Dipper didn't notice falling asleep, only that the soft breeze coming in through the open windows lulled him into a sense of weightless oblivion. He was only so much aware of the airy looseness of his arms and the way the wind tickles his skin. It was like floating, completely suspended and graceful.

He didn't dream. It wasn't that kind of sleep, nothing as deep or relaxing for the mind to wander. It was more like a fog of unconsciousness, completely blank and unable to do more than exist. He was simply at peace, soundly resting. Time and space didn't matter, creating a bubble around him where he could be still and silent.

There was no way to truly tell his long he slept. A stretch of time merely passed from when he closed his eyes to when the wind started to rouse him again. At first it was just a cool touch against his cheek, grazing his warm skin. It carried a pleasant scent of damp bark and decaying leaves, the earth as it was freshly rained on and not fully dried. A bird chirped softly, echoing from a distance that carried from tree to tree.

Dipper felt his eyelids flutter before he even realized he was awake. A haze lifted from him slowly, bringing him back to the world around him. A shade covered him, sunlight blocked by something over head. He tilted his head back, expecting to see clouds through the roof of the greenhouse, but all he saw were thick intertwining branches of heavily grown leaves. Their overlap creating a canopy to block out the mid afternoon sky.

The colour in his face drained, leaving a pale white across his permanently sun burnt cheeks. He stood still as the blood in his veins stopped cold. Each direction that his eye fell on was nothing but wide tree trunks, densely parted from one another, leaving him lost in a maze of growth. Nothing looked familiar or well travelled. He couldn't even see the laid path for hikers or the nearby camp grounds. It was just tree line after tree line, and he was lost in the centre, put there by his own sleep walking.

Dipper's mouth fell open wide. He let out a terrified scream.


	6. Chapter 6

“Mabel, I'm already out here... you don't have to keep pulling on my arm...”

Dipper gave a heavy sigh before rolling his eyes. The fact he even let himself be dragged from his room was annoying. There were so many more things he'd rather being doing with his time than trudging through a dusty dugout ditch along a corn field. Where the loose dirt rolled beneath his canvas shoes and made walking unsteady and slippery. The sun was starting to go down across the fields, casting long shadows over the road they followed out of town where farms were beginning to pop up on either side.

The ground had been allowed to dry itself out after a full hot day of direct sunshine, but the old decaying corn husks and cut hay which lay scattered about the wide opened fields smelled of compost and rot, bringing a pungent smell with it that was both distinct and unpleasant. It drew out the interest of insect. Their constant buzzing becoming an irritating white noise drown of noise. Dipper swatted at a small gnat away from his face with his single free hand.

His whining earned him a small tug forward by the sleeve of his shirt, the already stretched out material easily pulling down over his wrist. Mabel was as persistent as the bugs, not giving into anything Dipper wanted. It was easy for her to pretend that they were having fun, trying to lighten the uncomfortable mood with a bright smile and a cheery giggle. And if that small giggle was actually a bit forced and awkward, she'd never admit to it, determined to drag her brother out of the cave he'd made of his room the last day and a half.

It wasn't her fault. She was trying, in his best interest. However, every since his spontaneous episode of sleep walking, one he still couldn't give reason for, Dipper had carved out a space in his mattress for himself too afraid to move, unwilling to even come down stairs for dinner. Nothing was tempting enough to pull him from his protective covers.

He hadn't actually slept since, too afraid that it could happen again and that he'd wind up lost for good this time. All night he'd kept a light on and the window locked. He was running on fume by now, holding himself together by mere willpower and some hot tea that Ford had brewed to ease his busy mind. Dipper was thankful to him at least.

It had actually been Ford who found him first, having heard screaming out in the woods. His uncle had taken off running the second Dipper's scared voice carried across the yard. Without a second thought Ford ran into the woods.

The concern he felt was intense, not simply because Dipper was his responsibility living under his roof but because the look on his nephew's face had been one of sheer horror that Ford almost feared for Dipper's life. The familiar sun burnt pink to his cheeks were drained to a pale white and was clammy with sweat, cold and slick to the touch. His wide eyes were dry of tears but there had been a need to cry was clear in that still expression, as if the gentlest of touches would have triggered an immediate break down. It took some time, but Ford had managed to cox him out of the woods slowly, almost having to treat Dipper like he were injured baby deer.

When he tried to ask what had happened, Dipper didn't answer him, couldn't answer. Hour passed before Dipper spoke more than a syllable. Ford could feel the emotions rolling off his nephew in coastal waves, strong and forceful enough to knock a weak man down. His strong empathy beat out his need to logically understand. Until Dipper was comfortable enough to talk about it, he let Dipper rest. He escorted his nephew back to his room in the attic and didn't argue when he refuse to leave it.

Mabel, however, had different plans. She didn't want her brother to hide away in his room. Instead believing he needed to plow through his new fear with full force, to go out to meet new friends and have some fun. So, without warning she burst in the small attic bedroom, disrupting Dipper from his reading.

If he had even been doing so much as to read. More accurately, Dipper had laid in silence for a long time, watching the dust fall in the early evening sunlight by the window. It fell softly, looking like clouds of glittering powder.

Mabel didn't wait for him to agree or disagree, instead choosing for him. She threw an unstained blue long-sleeve at him and a pair of clean tan coloured jeans. She told him, rather than asked, to change and said she would be waiting for him downstairs and to not leave her waiting for long. Because she said so, whether he wanted to or not, they were still keeping their plans with Wendy and going out tonight. And Dipper really didn't want to.

She'd promised their uncles that Dipper would be under her care, but that honestly amounted to nothing. Mabel was too scatter brained with an attention space like a fish. Dipper was against the whole thing and voice his feelings accordingly, complaining the whole time he was lead by the arm, a necessary force put on him by his sister, pushed and dragged until they were on their way.

“I'm just making sure you don't run away and leave me out here.”

Dipper gave her an unimpressed look that went completely ignored. “Where would I even go?” he pressed, fighting the urge to be explicitly sarcastic and rude. She shrugged but still held firm at his sleeve, pulling the cuff just by walking faster than him.

“Who knows,” she said. “You might stumble into a fairy circle. Then what we do?”

Her teasing was answered with a few grumbled comments under Dipper's breath, who wasn't trying in the slightest to be subtle with his attitude. He scoffed at her but let himself be pulled along, the fight long worn out of him. Another bug came by his ear and made him flinch badly. He just wanted to be back in his room where it was quiet. His night felt doomed to play Mabel's shadow, attached at her heels. She wasn't going to leave for him and Dipper didn't feel safe waking home alone. He was trapped.

Dipper's fears were more undefined, brought on by an unexplained feeling, rather than something tangible or easily blameable like the darkness. It was more the strange feeling of being constantly watched and followed that unnerved him most. That no matter where he was, home or in town, someone was there. Maybe not physically close by but he knew it was something not far away. No one else seemed to get this feeling however. For a while Dipper believed Ford could sense it too but he'd been starting to think that his uncle was just reading Dipper's own aura of emotion and getting confused, because Ford had yet to bring it up again.

Even now, out in the rural outskirts of town, Dipper felt like there were eyes burning a hole through his back as they watched him get further away. He tried to ignore it and shake off the unease but as the sun crept lower in the sky, glowing an ominous red against a clear orange background, Dipper couldn't fully escape the thick feeling in his veins. He tensed up, hearing a loud noise in the distance across the corn field.

The twins heard Wendy and her friends long before they ever saw them. Music played loudly from a parked car. Its windows rattling from the extra speakers installed into the trunk. The mix of voices and laughter blended. The lively attitudes making the empty field feel full and electric. Mabel was practically vibrating with her own excitement as they walked over to them all. She dropped Dipper's arm and skipped a few steps ahead.

Dipper stuffed his hands deep inside his jeans pockets and shuffled his feet slowly, not wanting to follow her over to the unexpectedly large group of people taking over the old dirt road. A multitude of cars were parked up along the ditch on either side of him, some were still running and idling, others left cold to the crowd. The bodies bounding in between them all looked older than Dipper was, all college students or at least of that age group. They paired off in groups of three or four, moving back and forth to talk to friends.

Dipper tensed up more, his shoulder scrunching closer to his ears. If this was 'hanging out' as Wendy implied, what did she call a party... He wasn't happy as he found himself wandering through the maze of parked cars to get over to his sister again.

“Hey, Dipper! Glad you made it,” Wendy yelled to him over the loud music and mixed voiced. She smiled as he came over and relaxed back against the side of a truck. Dipper recognized it as the one she typically drives to work in. He smiled back at her with a timid edge to his face, more polite than happy.

Beside Wendy, with an arm thrown behind her across the truck bed, was a guy who Dipper knew without being introduced. Dressed in black ripped clothes and giving off a grumpy expression, one fixed on Dipper in complete dislike, was presumably Robbie, the boyfriend. His greasy fringe hung forward in his face, only partly hiding the way his eyebrows scrunched together as he looked at him from top to bottom. It made Dipper shrink back in on himself, feeling a bitter criticism being directed his way.

“Hey...” Dipper mumbled, giving Wendy a small nod. He fell into awkward silence as the group returned to their previous conversation. Mabel jumping in where ever she decided to. He honestly didn't want to butt in or be heard at all. If possible, he would disappear into the corn field where no one would bother him. He leaned against the truck and said little to nothing, glancing around the road to see what Wendy and her friends constituted as fun. The scene before him didn't exactly surprise him by any means but also wasn't as impressive as he hoped.

The small crowd blended together for a while, screaming at each other over the loud bass pumping over the road. He noticed a few of the people about him carried open cans of alcohol, greedily drinking between breaths. Dipper made a face, uninterested. Across from him, barely hidden in the backseat of a car were a couple doing things that made Dipper turned away with an embarrassed blush. He straightened up and swore to himself, looking back to the road. There was the rev of an engine and Dipper jumped in surprise as a car goes whizzing by out of no where. Wendy beside him started to laugh at his wide eyed fear.

She slapped a hand out and whacked him in the shoulder. “Geez, dude, relax,” she said.

Dipper laughed back with a small croak, heart beating hard in his chest. He felt like he'd just had a heart attack. His laughed turned to an exhausted groan.

He turned quickly to see the car speed recklessly down the road, hitting the breaks and spinning hard before stopping. The head lights bounced off the packed dirt road and Dipper squinted into the bright white. Dust was kicked up along the road, slowly starting to settle as clouds that fell into the stream of light. Dipper coughed lightly on the dust in the air, able to taste as well as smell, gas and burned tire rubbed.

Wendy pushed away from her boyfriend to join Dipper toward the bumper of the truck. She leaned in to talk into his ear.

“Lee and Nate are getting ready to play chicken. We might want to back up,” she told him, shooing him over with a small wave of her hand.

“What?” Dipper moved impulsively toward the ditch. “Why?”

“Don't be a baby.” Robbie moved around them, forcing a closed can of somewhat chilled beer into Dipper's hands as he passed. The can was dripping wet from the ice cooler it'd been sitting in.

Dipper held it by the rim, the condensation leaving his fingers all wet with ice water. He tried to dry them hand on his jeans.

“Thanks...” He looked up to watch Robbie hop up into the truck bed to sit on the side.

Dipper didn't exactly want the beer and hadn't asked for it, but he kept a hold of the can anyways and followed Wendy when she lead him back into the ditch so her friends could have the road. He did lean forward with his head sticking out behind the bumper to see the second car at a distance up the other end of the road, facing their direction. For a long moment, the two cars idled, waiting patiently for the other to be ready. Uncomfortable nerves wormed their way up Dipper's back causing his skin to prickle.

In under a minute the whole thing was over. The two cars took off along the old dirt road, their tired spinning on gravel and mud. The bottom of Dipper's stomach dropped out as the two sped by, barely missing each other at they passed. He squeaked loudly and moved behind the truck for cover as there was the sound of a side mirror being ripped off with force. The mirror was sent flying down the road, bounding along the dirt to be eventually lost in the dark.

Around him, no one paid him attention, they were too distracted by the metallic squeal that broke out into the quiet field. Wendy laughed and started shouting jokes at Nate for losing part of his car, and essentially losing the game of chicken as well. Dipper could even pick out his sister laughing among all the noise.

He closed his eyes and took a long breath, feeling overwhelmed and shaken. His hands trembled around the can. The colder temperature of the tin was at least a little refreshing for how hot and sweaty his palms were getting. His shoulder was swatted at again to get his attention and Dipper opened his eyes just a peek. Wendy was there, a big smile on her face. She reached over and popped the seal of the beer for him. She encouraged him to drink it, dismissing the fact that he and Mabel were underage, far more interested on the group of them having a good time.

“Loosen up, have a drink,” Wendy pressured with enthusiasm. “Drink it! Drink it!”

“Wendy-” Dipper didn't want to. Things were happening really fast all of a sudden and he couldn't handle it. It was too loud and he was starting to feel incredibly claustrophobic. Robbie kicked him in the ribs from where he sat on the edge of the truck.

“Chug it, sissy.”

Dipper sunk back against the truck, feeling surrounded and unable to get away. He couldn't see Mabel, just Wendy who he still wanted to impress despite the douche bag boyfriend breathing down his neck. She looked at him with her persuasive big blue eyes and Dipper completely deflated on the inside. He lifted the can to his lips and took a very full mouthful until streams of frothy beer dribbled out the corners of his lips and down his chin. Once he managed to swallow it all down, Wendy seemed pleased enough to let him go. She proudly her hands, giving Dipper a standing ovation, before climbing up next to Robbie on the truck.

They watched him from above, one encouraging and inclusive, the other rude and critical. Dipper licked the bitter taste from his lips and rubbed his chin dry on his sleeve. He tried to smile, or at least look casual but he was positive that he was just painfully weird and obviously uncomfortable, a total nerd trying to fit in with the cool kids and failing. He shuffled on his feet, cautiously checking the road for anyone else who might run him down with their car. Dipper had no immediate plans to die in a car accident, thanks.

Because it was in his hands, Dipper fidgeted and tentatively sipped at the beer. He didn't hate the flavour, maybe it was just the brand that made him wince every time the bitterness washed over his tongue. The simple fact he was drinking however seemed to placate Robbie's bullying. The older boy lessened his interest in Dipper, turning to indifference or maybe mild acceptance. Though he was sure Robbie still hated him just on principle of being new and working with his girlfriend.

For a while Dipper stayed like this, skirting around the outside of groups, being included as long as he remained silent. He did his best to avoid Robbie altogether, choosing to sit alone when it was appropriate. Every so often someone he didn't know would toss him another drink that he didn't need or want. And every time he had no intent of drinking them, but as the night grew later and the sun completely set, his fidgeting took over and because it was in his hands Dipper eventually cracked the can and started to drink far more than his limits.

The buzz of alcohol in his head was warm and bubbly, helping to ease his tension a little bit. There was a fizz in the back of his nose like a held in sneeze. He stretched a little. It threw off him equilibrium and almost sent him toppling backwards out of Wendy's truck. He grabbed the edge and held himself up but his beer can spilled, a large slosh of frothy alcohol spilling onto his pant leg and shoe.

The sudden motion tipped his head back, leaving him dizzy. A small headache was beginning to build up behind his eyes now. It was unpleasant and nauseating. Dipper put the can down, choosing not to touch it anymore. He'd had enough.

“Hey Dipper!” Wendy slapped the side of her truck, coming up behind him in the dark, scaring him more than he wanted to admit. Dipper gasped and jumped forward, almost falling again. He swore aloud. “Oops, sorry.”

“It's fine,” he waved it off, steadying himself on weak knees.

“I'm hijacking Thomson's car to do donuts. Ride with me.”

Dipper immediately declined the offer. He shook his head aggressively but even that made him a little dizzy. He'd been sitting for so long that he didn't even notice how the alcohol turned his limbs to rubbery jello. He groaned softly, closing his eyes to fight the tunnel vision that pushed into his peripheral. Wendy was way more stubborn though, dropping the back door and pulling him from the truck against his will. Dipper was pulled out and onto his own feet like a clumsy little doll, tripping and falling unless someone held him up. Wendy didn't mind, clearly use to drunk friends and reckless actions. She had been drinking herself and Dipper knew it.

The alcohol was a major impediment on his judgment, as were her blue eyes when they looked at him. He should have but Dipper didn't exactly fight back as Wendy lightly nudged him into the passenger seat of the borrowed car. He sat, uneasy but compliant to her eagerness. She got in after him behind the wheel and started the car.

“You'll love this. It's so much fun,” Wendy promised. She tossed her red hair out of her face and looked over at him, laughing when she saw the way Dipper had a firm grip on both the door handle and the dashboard, holding on for dear life, and they hadn't even started going anywhere yet. “You need to learn how to chill, man.”

“Pft! Yeah! I'm chill. I'm totally chill.” Dipper gave a crooked smirk, showing a little teeth and chuckled nervously. His drunk buzz making him blink rapidly like a tick. His voice was louder than usual too, forced out of him by the excess of beer and panic.

He could feel the engine vibrating through the dashboard, making his arm jiggle and shake. Dipper took a scared breath, partly over the belief he was about to die or throw up, if not both at the same.

“Go...” he told Wendy with as much firm drunk confidence he could muster.

Wendy didn't need more encouragement. She pulled the power break back and stomped on the gas. The car's wheels spun, throwing up dirt and rocks. The car rocked aggressively as they sat in park, the speedometer ticking higher. Dipper sunk in his seat, anxiety climbing high along with it. With a shout of excitement, Wendy let the power break go and launched the car forward. The whole body shook from the stress on the wheels.

They bounced over a small pothole in the dirt road, knocking Dipper into the dash before the whole car was sent flying to the side and he fell against the door. Wendy turned the steering wheel all the way to the side. The motion was dangerously rickety, feeling very close to rolling the car into the ditch.

Dipper watched the field pass by quickly in a constant loop. Lights blinked in and out of his eyes from the other cars. His ears turned hot, drawing all the blood from his face. He closed his eyes tightly, very aware of how his stomach turned. He had to swallow the saliva built up in his mouth before he choked on it.

“Wendy...” he groaned. Dipper's arm shot out to grab for her shirt sleeve, needing her attention. “Wendy... I'm gonna...”

She wasn't paying much attention until there as absolutely no choice but to. Her foot came up off the gas, focus being split between the road and the way Dipper bent in half in his seat, throwing up onto the floor between his shoes. She swore and apologized to him.

“Fuck! Dipper, are you okay?”

He groaned in response. Thankfully the car was straightened out along the road and brought to a comfortable stop. Dipper was aware of this only and he didn't wait for Wendy to fully park the car before the door was open and he stumbled out into the dirt, knees buckling as he tripped into the ditch roughly. On his hands he pushed himself up and spat into the wild grass growing along the side of the road. Everything tasted like stale, bitter alcohol and it burned like acid. His eyes watered as his stomach threatened to empty itself again.

He breathed in the fresh air, focusing on trying to calm down when there were more people around him than he wanted. Mabel knelt down and put a hand softly on his back. She leaned over him, trying to ease him out of his balled up crouch.

“Dipper, are you alright?” she asked, scared for him. It was rather rhetorical, considering the sheer fact he was definitely not alright. But concerned finally for his well being, Mabel sighed and offered to take him home.

“Come on, Dipper. Let's go.”

Dipper nodded and sat back on his heels. “Yeah... Sounds good.”

He allowed Mabel to help him stand, not complaining this time when his sister pulled him along behind her as they climbed out of the ditch. Dipper tugged on his shirt collar and bit his lip, mortified that everyone was watching him now. He met Wendy's eye and it made him look down to his shoes. She came over to apologize again. It was sincere and gentle this time, uncharacteristically so. Dipper nodded, accepting it and promising to see her at work as Mabel told her they were heading home.

“Of course...” she backed up and let them pass by. “I'll see you later then. Get home safe.”

“Thanks for inviting us. This was fun,” Mabel said with a big smile and a wave.

Dipper kept his head down, attention firmly on the ground and the way his feet shuffled in the dark. At least no one could see his embarrassed face this way, with his hair falling over his eyes in a knotted mess. He imagined he looked like absolute garbage, sweat coated and smelling of beer. He pulled at his shirt until the collar was balled between his teeth and gnawed on until it was damp with spit. The two slowly made their way down the road, taking their time in case Dipper's stomach decided to do anything else tonight.

The fresh night time air helped sooth his heated face, cooling off the sweat lingering on his forehead. Dipper ran a hand through his bangs and sighed. He tilted his chin up toward the sky and looked wistfully at the slim curve of the moon. The music from Wendy's friends was lost to the sounds of crickets as they got further away from their party. Mabel waddled along the road beside him, playing with a long stalk of grass she plucked from the ditch. She looked rosy pink from drinking as well but not nearly as much as himself. There was no staggering in her step or incoherence. Between the two of them, only he was going to be chewed out when they got home to their uncles.

Dipper groaned, just now realizing this. He grabbed Mabel by the arm, anxiously pulling her toward him. She pipped up to ask him what was wrong this time but he cut her off.

“Let's take the long way back. I can't walk into the house like this. Stan and Ford will be pissed,” he told her.

She could see his point and happily followed him down a side street that twisted and wove its way through the centre of town. It would add, at most, an hour to their walk home which would be plenty time for Dipper to sober up and for his clothes to dry. Whether or not he aired out by the time they got back wasn't really up to him. If he were lucky Ford would be in bed early and he would only need to avoid Stan long enough to shower and change. But when was he ever that lucky.

The streetlight over head lit their way along the sidewalk as houses gave way to restaurants and stores. It wasn't very late into the evening, but it was late enough that all the shops that they passed were long since closed and were completely dark inside. Signs with their neon lights switched off and shades pulled down. Dipper caught his reflection in a blackened store window and whined in his throat. He looked as gross as he felt. Dishevelled, stretched clothes and messy hair. He looked greasy and hot under the street lamp's direct light. He pulled a face in disgust, wanting a shower soon. Mabel chuckled at him, seeing exactly what he saw.

Through the small town's main square they crossed the road, facing the general direction of home. Mabel skipped along at a faster pace, still full of energy as Dipper was quickly losing his own. He crossed his arms and sighed. His foot steps slowed down to barely a shuffle, the toe of his shoes dragging with each step.

As they made their way another block and a half, Dipper started getting that feeling, that sense of being watched that was quickly becoming all too familiar. However, this time felt far too real, not a lingering breath of a ghost or a shadow staring from the corner of a room. This felt like a physical presence, a person or thing that had their eye glued to him back. A chill ran up his spine and he turned sharply to one side, drawn in the direction of this strange magic.

Dipper froze. There, across the street. Outside a store with its windows dark for the night, was a solitary figure standing against the store's closed door. The building's overhanging sign casting a shade over them, blocking out the streetlight and robbing Dipper of the finer details that he desperately wanted filled in. From this distance, in this light, all he could see were the dark clothes against a tall slim figure. Nothing else stood out beside the lit end of the stranger's cigarette when it was brought up to a pair of lips.

Dipper tried to tell himself a reasonable explanation for all this, that this was a public sidewalk and that there was nothing sinister or suspicious why anyone would be stand outside to smoke in the dark. It was a coincidence for them to cross paths, not intentional. But he knew, somehow, that their eyes were locked across the distance between them and Dipper couldn't turn away. He stood in awe of the dark figure staring into his soul. Dipper held his breath, scared of breaking their bond too soon.

In slow, liquid smooth motions, the figure slunk out from its hiding place and stepped under the street lamp, directly posing for Dipper's full view. The man, because it was clearly that, stood with one arm resting on the lamp post, his other arm balancing his weight on a slim black walking cane. His clothes were black and smoothly pressed, oddly formal in style. Dipper barely got a chance to take it all in. He was still too focused on the tall angled face which tilted with amusement as they watched each other. The strange slid a pair of circle lens sunglasses down a long nose, eyeing Dipper blatantly without a barrier.

Dipper couldn't make out the colour of those eyes still, even with the sickly white light shining down over the man's face. All he could see for sure was the bleach blonde hair that was gelled back, and the man's chalk white skin that looked hollow and ill. Dipper sucked in a sharp gasp between his teeth. A part of him wanted to go over, easily drawn in like a weak moth to a magnificently bright flame.

The man took a slow drag from his cigarette and breath out a stead stream of smoke that curled and twisted like a snake. His chin lifted as he exhausted, exposing the long slim skin of his neck. From the sharp jaw line to the skin travelling below the shirt collar, ran a thickly lined, dark mass of tattoo ink. At first glance, Dipper thought he was just wearing a high, stiff collar by the way the dark coloured blended together. The details were lost to him, as was the design, but he could tell it was a tattoo, one that extended far more than what he could initially see.

Dipper licked his suddenly dry lips and blinked. His face heated across the skin of his cheeks and nose. His foot took half a step forward on its own accord, sliding out toward the curb and the road between them.

“Dipper!”

Mabel broke through his strange trance and Dipper physically jumped, whipping around to see her coming back up the sidewalk. Had he really been standing there so long that she noticed an absence. He looked at his sister, guilty and speechless. A small hesitant sound came out of his throat, none verbal and broken. She looked at him and then around, confused.

“What's up, bro?” she asked.

“Uh...” Dipper turned his head back to across the street. The stranger was gone from the lamp's spotlight but he just barely caught sight of the store's front door closing. He went to point it out but quickly lowered his hand. “Hmm... Nothing.”

Mabel looked over to the shop window. “Tarot cards and palm reading?” She said after glancing at the sign. “Are you interested?”

“Let's go home, please,” Dipper said with a persistent tone. He pushed passed his sister, willing himself to walk faster than he ever had been before. He needed to get away from that store front. She caught up easily, though at a slight jog.

“Hey, should we come back tomorrow and learn the future?” She asked, way too excited about the possibility.

“No, absolutely not...” Dipper wasn't coming back. He was determined to stay away from that store, as well as the man he saw go inside it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited but not proof read. We die like men here!  
> Also not posting on a Friday evening. That's new. It was never intentional for the pattern to form, just arbitrarily happen that way.  
> Hope everyone's enjoying the story so far. Personally the aesthetic gives me the warm and fuzzies so I'm loving it. I really like reading your comments! They are really encouraging and so sweet.
> 
> Hoping these works this time...  
> [Setting Vibes](https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/297589487881797418/)  
> [Major Bill Inspiration](https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/674273375438680087/)


	7. Chapter 7

Dipper ripped the crust from his morning toast. Bits of crumbs scattered over the plate and table. The single slice was just shy of blackened, smelling burnt and unappetizing. The taste wasn't even passable as toast. A sharp, smoky flavour lingering on his tongue after just one bite, a taste no amount of strawberry jam could cover up. He dropped the torn chunks of bread onto his plate with disinterest. Honestly though, Dipper wasn't even hungry to start with but fell into a life long morning routine of having some form of breakfast with his coffee. The mug beside his plate was only half drained, left forgotten to grow cold and bitter. Dipper propped his elbow up onto the table before roughly dropping his chin onto his hand. He yawned loudly through the empty kitchen and thought of going back to bed.

He'd had such a good sleep, something he hadn't had in probably a week by this point. When they had finally made it home last night, Dipper being in more of a hurry than his sister, he somehow managed to get all the way to his room without being detected by their uncles. He forwent the shower he'd been thinking of, too exhausted then and head hurting, collapsed into bed fully dressed without a second thought about the beer smell on his clothes. The covers were such a relief that once he closed his eyes, Dipper fell asleep immediately. It was a nice deep sleep where no dreams reached him. He was sure that he didn't even move or roll over once all night.

For all intense and purposes, he lay dead to the world until unwelcomed sunshine woke him that morning. The bright light creeping up over his face and bringing him back to reality. Dipper hadn't wanted to get up. He wanted to go back to that nice silent sleep where there were no bad dreams, no sleepwalking, and no penetrative thoughts of creepy older men stalking him down sidewalks in the middle of the night. But he'd reluctantly gotten up, finally had that cold shower, and put on clean clothes before coming down stairs.

Dipper sighed, finished with the toast on his plate despite not even having more than one bite. The burnt taste made his stomach turn uncomfortably, as did the strong coffee which he normally enjoyed. Unfortunately, last nights headache was still with him in the morning, a dull throb that made him feel gross and sick. He tried to ignore the mild hangover, sure that some small dose of painkiller would quiet it for him. Dipper pushed his plate away in defeat.

He was about to get up and take his breakfast to the garbage when Ford came strolling through the kitchen with the remainders of his own morning coffee. Dipper watched him cross to the sink quietly. For a moment it seemed like they were just going to have their personally unique morning of polite silence, maybe the occasional comment. And this was fine, because it meant Dipper had gotten away with everything that happened last night. That there would be no delayed scolding for coming home late or his irresponsible drinking, for smelling of beer and other people's pot smoke.

When Ford turned to him, Dipper sat forward in his chair a little bit more. There was a small frown on his uncle's face that creased with concern, an underlying reason in his mind that made him linger in the kitchen. Dipper paused, his hands falling into his lap. He could feel them starting to tremble as the silence built unintentional tension. Maybe he was going to get that scolding after all. Dipper knew he'd been way too lucky last night. He pulled the sleeves of his oversized hoodie down over his hands to keep himself from ripping more holes in the thighs of his jeans. As much as he wanted to pluck at the loose strings, he tried very hard to resist the urge and sit still.

Throat dry all of a sudden Dipper swallowed, hesitant at first but managing to croak out a pleasant 'good morning' in hoped that he did not look too guilty. Although he was positive it was written all of his face, his expression unable to hide anything from anyone. Dipper knew he was a terrible liar.

“Dipper...” Ford started but stopped. He sounded unsure of himself, hesitant as if he was choosing his words carefully before speaking. His uncle shifted from one foot to the other, clasping and unclasping his hands in front of him.

Dipper bit his lip in scared anticipation. “Uh... yes?” he asked, trying to smile innocently.

“About your behaviour... That is...” Ford stepped away from the counter and cleared this throat. He was clearly not use to parenting teenagers or having to discipline anyone – other than Stan. “I understand you might not want to talk about it, given everything... But sometimes these things need to be taken seriously and discussed.”

Dipper hunched his shoulders high, slouching in his seat. His insides deflated, the physical nausea making him believe he could emotionally vomit. “Ford... I didn't-I mean... it's not that I meant to...”

His words came out as a stammer, rushing to apologize for last night. A part of him hoped that if he said everything first it would save the two of them from having an awkwardly long conversation. He could accept a 'grounding' or whatever punishment Ford and Stan wanted to give him. It'd be perfectly fine with him, especially if it meant he could escape the kitchen faster.

It was obvious Ford could sense how uncomfortable and small Dipper's emotions were because when he spoke again it was reassuring and oddly soft.

“No... No, I'm not saying it was your fault at all.” He walked over to the table with the clear intention of sitting down but he couldn't decide if he wanted to just yet. He pulled out a chair but remained standing a while longer. “Some times... Things happen outside our control and we aren't fully able to explain why. Likewise you shouldn't blame yourself or think you're at fault.”

Dipper looked up at his uncle not fully understanding but nodded his head. “Okay...” He wondered if Mabel had said something in his defence.

“I only want to ask if you are feeling better now – about everything.” Ford fumbled and sat down across the table. His old face tightened. With restless fingers he took off his large rimmed glasses and started to clean them impulsively on his shirt. “But I guess, maybe not quite yet. You seem very anxious today, Mason – I mean, Dipper – Sorry, I apologize.”

“Um... just a small headache,” Dipper admitted.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah... actually. I did.”

“That's good,” Ford relaxed a little and gave him the barest hint of a smile. “Maybe the sleepwalking incident was purely coincidental after all.”

“...what? Yeah... Maybe.” Dipper blinked, confused.

Ford carried on, seemingly to be voicing his own thoughts rather than explaining anything to Dipper directly. It was a slight ramble, jumbled and vacant of any reason.

“Since you and your sister arrived, I could tell the energy around town had changed. It's been very strange, oddly confusing. Strange magnetic forces, not always but there's something there. I told you before, briefly, I don't know if you remember...” Ford tapped his fingers on the table top, pausing to think. His eyes moving about the kitchen as if he was able to see this invisible force, like lines of string, which he felt. “Now with your behaviour the other day, it could very well be purely a single case. It may never happen again, but I'm still unsure... Have you noticed anything odd lately?”

Dipper froze. A heavy rock of guilt and fear sunk low in the pit of his stomach. Far in the back of his mind came the soft whispers from his dreams, from the shadowy figure following him, watching him from the corners of rooms or lingering in doorways. The voice muffled like a distance memory he could no longer piece together. Only the glimpse of the man in the yard, seeing him again last night – the figure lit by the streetlamp, tall, dark and imposing. Dipper felt his cheek heat and turn pink. He looked away, unable to meet Ford's eye.

“Odd... Odd how?” he asked, scared is voice would crack and give away how he felt.

“Just _odd_ , I suppose. If anything has felt unbalanced in nature,” Ford said. “I feel it strongest around you... though I cannot say why, yet.”

Dipper stiffed, sitting up in his chair tall and straight. He had to sit on his hands to keep them from shaking. Knowing he should tell Ford everything, his mouth opened but he closed it immediately. He physically couldn't say anything and he didn't know why it was so hard. It was like the ability to even mention it was stripped from him against his will. His tongue felt too heavy to speak, too large for his mouth. Dipper stared into the empty air in the centre of the kitchen, lost in his own thoughts.

It couldn't be all in his head, the feeling of being watched. He'd finally seen him, that man. It wasn't just a dream any longer, no longer a ghost. The heat of Dipper face started to hurt, colouring all the way up to the tips of his ears. He remembered the intimidating figure, standing alone in the dark to watch. He remember how the lamp light cast such a white glow over the man's skin, sharply contouring his angled features. The weight in stomach lifted, turning to light airy bubble that sat just as uneasy and nauseating.

“I don't know...” Dipper lied. His voice wobbled uncontrollably. “I haven't noticed...”

He swallowed, the sense of panic setting in. Ford was looking at him suspiciously now, reading his behaviour and aura, seeing right through the obvious lie. Dipper fidgeted and went to speak again, to defend himself with another forced fib, but never got the chance. Thankfully for once, Mabel burst into their conversation uninvited and sudden. She came racing through the kitchen doorway, brightly emitting her usual cheery personality. She called his name loudly as she entered, almost screaming. Each energetic step made her homemade jewellery jingled and chimed as she moved.

Mabel slapped her hands down on the table, putting a rickety stop to her forward momentum. Dipper's coffee sloshed inside its mug, threatening to spill out the top. Obviously she wasn't suffering from any signs of hangover, he thought with critical jealousy.

“Dipper, I want to go out. Come with me,” she told him more than asked. It was their day off and she was determined to enjoy it.

Dipper jumped on the opportunity to get out of the kitchen and the whole conversation with Ford. He quickly pushed himself up from the table, looking at Mabel as he tripped over himself. It didn't matter what she wanted to go do as long as it got him out of the house for a while. He nodded at her.

“Right, that _thing_ you wanted to do,” he said hurriedly, not thinking before he said it. He grabbed her arm and started pulling her in the direction of the hallway.

“Thing?” Mabel looked at him, confused at first.

“Yeah-yeah... that _thing_. In town.” Dipper smiled a lop sided smile. He hoped she could tell he wanted her help out of the room but she easily brightened up, reading into something that wasn't actually there.

“Oh! Really? You want to?” She asked, bouncing excitedly on her toes. “Yes, let's go!”

She reversed their position, taking hold of Dipper's baggy sleeve and greedily directing him out of the room. Her loud squeals of joy a high pain in his ear. Ford was left behind, silent and bewildered. He let them go still, shaking his head slightly, not complaining as they abruptly disappeared down the hall.

They took off for the front door, each of them grabbing their shoes to go out. It was one of the only moments where Mabel let Dipper go, but it didn't last long. He was going willingly but she kept acting like he was about to take off at any second if she wasn't diligently in control. Even as they got outside and ran along the driveway, she kept a firm hold on Dipper's hoodie. She was trying to run faster than him, to maintain the lead that she always wanted to have over him. Dipper kept up easily though with his longer legs. He lightly tugged his arm against her pull.

Eventually she let him slip from her hand, their jog to freedom turning to a casual stroll down the side of the empty road. She started talking absentmindedly, filling the silence with her own voice just so there was something to hear. Dipper barely payed attention to her. He was just glad to get out of the house. He occupied himself by watching the grass sway along the ditch beside the road, their long thin blades twisting out to him for his approval. Mix into the greenery were little baby blue wildflowers that moved in a similar fashion, opening as he passed by. Dipper smiled a little to himself, appreciating their unconditional affection. He bent down and ran his hand over the grass as if to pet it.

Mabel slapped his arm because he wasn't listening to her but as soon as he glanced up she started talking a mile a minute once more and walking on. She said something about a shop, Dipper heard that, but everything else went in one ear and out the other. She said something about Stan too. Dipper shrugged, lost in his own mind and his derailing train of thought.

It was becoming very hard to focus. The headache that had been no more than a small twinge of pain was slowly building itself up behind his eyes, putting pressure on his pulse and throbbing, straining his eyes under the morning sunshine. It did a number on his ability to form a completed thought. Dipper became easily distracted, sidetracked by whatever stray thought decided to edge into his mind, jumbling and stuffing his head full. It didn't help the headache whatsoever. He groaned and pressed a finger to his temple, massaging the skin in a pathetic attempt to ease the pain.

“So... where are we going?” he asked abruptly, interrupting Mabel's constant talking. She sighed hard and rolled her eyes, turning back to look at him with dramatic exhaustion. She flipped her hair back away from her face and came back to walk beside him. She was bright and lively in the morning sun, natural auburn highlights popping through the brown of her hair. Dipper may have looked similar with his identical colouring, but he was far more messy and ill put together, unattractively so he thought.

“Geez Louise, Dip. Are you going to make it?” she asked teasingly, watching him rub at his head in pain. Briefly he could see the care in her eyes, just a small shine as she looked him over. As soon as he nodded though it was gone, washed away by her own interest in their roadside adventure.

“Oh yeah, doing great over here,” he said back just as scathingly sarcastically.

“Good because I wouldn't want to leave you behind.” She stuck his tongue out at him.

“You didn't answer my question,” Dipper lightly shoulder checked her into the road. In response, Mabel gave him an aggressive shove which went him stumbling into the ditch and overgrown long grass.

“I told you. You just weren't listening.” Mabel lifted her chin, proud and tall. “I'm bringing you to get our palms read.”

“What?” Dipper sputtered, scrambling out of the ditch in a hurried flail of limbs. He slipped on the loose rocks and almost fell face first into the hot pavement. “No! Why? Why would you want to-to do that?”

“The fast you walk, the faster we get there, Dipper.” She took a light, song like tone with him. “It's such a fun idea! Stan was talking about him last week. I totally forgot about it till we went by there last night. Anyway! I asked him about it again, because, obviously, I remember it. And he hates the guy! Stan calls it a total scam. Does that sounds fun?”

“No, not at all.” Dipper planted his feet in the dirt and refuse to go any further. “I'm not going in there.”

“Why not? Give me one real reason,” Mabel demanded, impatiently waiting for him to explain. She pouted, stuffing her hands into the front flap of her short overalls like it was a kangaroo pouch.

Again the words caught in Dipper's throat, shoved down by anxious fear. He tried to swallow it and give her some reasonable excuse that would get him out of going, even though he shouldn't need to. Just the fact he didn't want to should be reason enough. But she stared at him, waiting for him to come up with something. The pressure she was putting on him to go was annoying but it wasn't like she could physically force him. Dipper huffed and crossed his arms.

“Because,” he spouted. “Because I don't want to. No. I'm not going in there and there's nothing that'll make me.”

“Why do you have to be so difficult?” Mabel whined. Her lower lip stuck out, ready to fake cry at the drop of a hat. She was always like this and it made Dipper frowned. She always got her way by exaggerating and complaining, guilt-tripping him into doing whatever she wanted, pushing and shoving him into uncomfortable positions. He was perfectly fine with going into town but he didn't want to go to that particular shop. He told her no again but went completely ignored.

Mabel grabbed onto his hoodie and put her whole body weight into moving him forward down the road. She wouldn't give up, refuse to, until they were so close to town that Dipper was walking on his own, too far in to turn around and go home. He walked at a slower pace, dragging his feet in protest, unwilling and begrudgingly. Each step build up a lump in his throat, impossible to swallow and ease. It was like a physical knot of rising fear, a heavy feeling that wanted to choke him to death for every step he took.

Mabel blindly chose not to notice, single-mindedly set on other things. She smiled to herself and prattled on about fortune telling and excitedly tried to predict her own future. All positive things that she believed she could will into existence, because she was a silver lining, looking at the world through rose coloured glasses, kind of person. She didn't believe in storm clouds and negativity. She coated that shit with a pound of glitter and denied it ever happened. It was also a belief she thought she could force on her brother. Dipper groaned, feeling his palms begin to sweat. He was dragged to the shop window, being promised that he'd 'have fun'.

The sight of the shop made his stomach plummet. He wished he could be anywhere else in the world but there. He'd rewrite his exams if it meant he could avoid going in that shop, anything at all.

The window still had its curtains closed, thick red velvet ones with gold embroidery. They hung like loose drapery, stylish over function because you couldn't tell if the lights were on or if the place was even open. He saw the sign which looked so dark and foreboding last night. Now in the day light, he stared up at it and the scrawling gold paint, artfully writing the words, _Cipher House of Voodoo_. The cursive dipped around the letter C with excessive swirls.

Dipper bit his lip hard, fingers going to the collar of his hoodie to tug and fiddle with the shirt underneath, as well as the necklace cord he kept safely tucked inside. His eyes traced over the large intricate flourish to the name Cipher. He repeated the name in his head over and over, memorizing the sound and imagining the feel like on his tongue if spoken. Dipper had promised to himself that he wouldn't come back here. What an empty promise that turned out to be. How spineless and weak he was under other people's pushing and nagging.

Dipper tugged on the necklace cord. His stomach did a strange kind of flip. This wasn't fear eating away at him, and it surprised him to realize that. It was quite unfamiliar, something more akin to embarrassment or nervous butterflies, turning and fluttering that left him uneasy. Anxious anticipation or even excitement perhaps. Dipper didn't have time to decide before Mabel pulling the door open and heading inside without him. He called her name before reflexively following after her.

He stepped inside, letting the door slip from his hand. It swung shut behind him, startling him as it rattled the wooden doorknockers hanging off the frame overhead. He looked up at them, the little cluster of carved wood still swinging. As they settled, Dipper could tell they were small carved skulls, bundled together and strung up. He backed away from them slowly.

His feet shuffled over the store's long rug, inching deeper inside with caution. Partly from general fear, but also because it was a very cramped space, filled with cabinets and tables. It wasn't what Dipper expected, though he couldn't say what he thought it would be like. The store front was so small and closed off, insignificant with its single sign and drawn curtains across the window. However, the shop stretched far back, every inch of the floor space taken up. Dipper wanted to compare it to an antique store with its old creaky looking vintage furniture and the odd smell of dust and old paper. The lighting was very dim too, oddly warm and yellow hued. It made the whole room feel very old and stuffy. There was no music, no voices coming from staff or other customers. Just the sound of his own breathing.

Dipper hesitantly touched a nearby table. He made eye constant with a ratty looking taxidermy crow perched on top of stack of dusty fabric bound books. He cringed, creeped out by the bird. Moving away he remembered his sister, but when he looked up, Dipper had already lost all trace of her in the maze of shelves and tables.

“Mabel,” he hissed under his breath. He didn't exactly want to be left alone in there.

He slipped passed an obtrusive armchair pushed away from the wall. It was easier for him to squeeze behind it rather than climb over the seat. The crushed red velvet felt worn and soft under his fingertips when Dipper touched the back rest. He then became aware of the scent a perfume which hung like a cloud around his head. It was very familiar and strong, stinging the back of his nose when he breathed in. Warm and spicy, Dipper recognized the spicy scent cedar wood and vanilla incense.

It was such a relaxing scent. It filled his lungs with a heavy feeling. Dipper almost fell over the armchair, head bobbing to one side, dizzy and drunk on the perfume. It felt like his ears were stuffed with cotton, thick and muffling his senses. There was a hollow ringing and Dipper's head fell backwards. He would have collapsed if it weren't for a hand pressing between his shoulder blades, steadying him on his feet.

Head tilted back, Dipper saw a tall dark shadow come over him. Dazed, he stared up at it, blinking his vision clear. Dipper felt oddly calm by the familiar hand on his body, pressing a warmth into his back. His head wanted to rest back, already so close to the man's broad shoulder. Not that Dipper was short by any means but his stranger easily exceeding six foot, compared to his own five-nine. And he wanted to, to lay his head back on that wide shoulder, where it looked so comfortable in his dizzy haze.

Dumbly staring, lips parting, Dipper couldn't find it in himself to pull away, not with the way his stranger looked back down at him. He felt himself blush as the man slid his sunglasses down his tall nose, offering a wide toothy smile of brilliantly white bleached teeth. Dipper swallowed thickly, feeling suddenly embarrassed and weak kneed under that direct smile, as if it were some intentional flirt. It made him uncomfortably aware of his own heartbeat pounding away in his chest.

He tried to clear his throat but only managed to elicit a high-pitched squeak. The man laughed, the sound lively amused and loud. His head tipped back as he laughed.

Dipper's eyes fell the the darkly inked skin across his throat, now fully on display to him. The dark lines which he mistook for a shirt collar last night were still as thick and black. The majority of that pale skin was shaded in with old partly fading ink, and meshed with patterns that went below his shirt. Dipper traced the lines with his eyes, focused on the long column of naked skin.

Right in the front, stretched across the man's throat, was a false second mouth, demonic and inhuman, full of interlocking teeth that stretched and smiled when his head tipped back. Dipper felt his mouth dry up and he impulsively licked his lips. He blinked, trying to stop staring.

Dipper even heard Mabel's cheerful voice somewhere beyond the hollow pulsing in his ears, muffed but present. Even that couldn't get him to turn away, too drawn in by the sheer presence of the man who'd been haunting his mind. When he looked into his face again, the man was looking elsewhere, seemingly unaware of Dipper's attention.

The sharp angle of his jaw was lifted. Those eyes peering out from over top the glasses. One was a clear blue while the other was a startling yellow amber. The two colours were almost cartoon like when matched together, a ridiculously theatrical addition to his already unusual appearance. Dipper questioned if the yellow eye was real, though he doubted that possible. He frowned for a second as he tried to decide but became startled by the man finally speaking, his voice a come out as an unexpected chipper tone, accented and charming.

“What can I do for you two lovelies today?” There was a distinct twang that Dipper could identify as cajun. The accent slurred his syllables, blending and leaving slight inflections to the ends of words. It was smooth still and he continued to smile as he spoke.

Dipper blinked, forcing himself to look elsewhere. He finally saw his sister standing beside them, not even a foot away. He barely noticed her walk over. She was looking just as excited as she had been before. Maybe even a little charmed herself by Dipper's stranger. She slightly blushed on her own, smiling back up at him as they spoke. She clapped her hands together and held them up under her chin. With an obnoxious eyelash flutter that she believed was oh so sweet and cute, she said that they were here for a palm reading. Dipper's back stiffened slightly, shoulders tensing.

“If you're not too busy. Mr.-?” she added politely.

The man chuckled again softly, nodding his head to her in a small bow. “Cipher, if you would. B. Cipher. Fortuneteller extraordinaire. Humbly at your service, Missy.”

She introduced herself too before giving him that small laugh that she always did when trying to desperately flirt. Dipper felt his eye twitch slightly, not wanting to witness more of that. In fact, he didn't want any part of this altogether. He put his foot down. He interrupted her, snapping her name to get her to stop talking. Dipper didn't care if it was rude, he wanted to leave. In fact, he was leave, and he would drag Mabel with him.

The two did a fine job of pretending to not hear him. It irritated him and Dipper was just short of storming passed the man beside him to make for the exit but the hand on his back gave him a sudden nudge forward and Dipper almost stumbled, taken by surprise. He turned his head to look back at him. The man slipped his sunglasses off, tucking them neatly into the pocket of his crisp dress shirt. Those eyes weren't even focused on him but Dipper could feel how his words were meant entirely for himself.

“I knew you'd be coming. Carved out my morning all for you. Now, right this way,” he extended a hand, gesturing to a small said room they would go to. “It's always exciting to leave one's future.”

Dipper kept his feet planted on the rug, not wanting to move from that spot. However, Cipher, beamed with a strange excitement of his own and walked him forward with little difficulty. “Come along, Bambi,” he cooed in his ear in his soft accent.

Dipper was lead into the next room like a puppet on a string, not fighting back as he was positioned and moved. The small space was warm, filled with a red glow by the covered lamps and synthetic wall lights. Mabel already was there, eagerly taking a seat on the curved loveseat, settling in among the plush cushions and throw pillows. Dipper was far more skeptical, cautiously staring at the strung up charms and dangling decorations. He wasn't all too familiar with the voodoo and which of these charms were legitimate or completely fictionalized by a supposed con man. Mabel seemed to think it was fun but fake, as did their uncle. Dipper however, knew that couldn't be entirely true.

“Take a seat,” Cipher directed with another light shove to his back. “I know you're curious to hear what I've got to say. It's very interesting.”

Dipper was about to protest, opening his mouth to speak, to excuse himself with a half-assed apology. He stammered over a few sounds which kind of sounded like human words but was still walked over to the couch. Before he could sit, the hand against his shoulder slid up, grazing across the back of his neck before pulling away entirely.

“Ow!” Dipper yelped in surprise. He slapped a hand over the base of his neck where there was a small sharp pain radiating over his hairline.

“Careful there, Bambi,” Cipher popped his knuckled and wiggled heavily ringed fingers in front of Dipper's face. “'couple hairs got caught. Terribly sorry.”

Dipper sat, rubbing his neck to sooth the small sting of pain. He glared up at the man who looked so amused. They stared at one another as Cipher stepped away. Eyes locked, never breaking contacted to even blink. He stepped around a low table which separated the couch and a single chair. Cipher sat, poised and calm. He leaned forward, remaining close to Dipper's side. The intense attention lingering until Dipper pushed himself back into the couch cushions, turning his face away.

They began with Mabel volunteering to go first. Cipher turned to her and requested her hand. Dipper's eyes snapped back at him.

As if on cue, she shouted happy and threw both of her hands out over the table. Cipher flinched back at her eager participation but politely recovered, half smiling and gave an awkward chuckle. He cleared his throat slightly too before thanking her.

“Only need the right one there...” he said, gingerly shooing the spare away. Cipher rolled up his sleeves, making himself comfortable before he settled on his elbows over the table.

Dipper's eyes travelled down the long line of his arms, the sleak black material of the dress shirt ending at the elbow. The newly exposed skin of his forearms stretching out towards them. More inked patches on display. Cipher held his hands out, palms stretches upwards. In the centre of each palm were dark stylized eyes, staring back at him as Dipper looked between them. They reached out for Mabel's hands and Dipper stiffened, shifting in his seat uncomfortably.

Mabel's small hand rested lightly against Cipher's, dwarfed in side by the long fingers. He traced out each crease and line with a fingertip, seeming to inspect them closely. He hummed in awe dramatically, cooing out little comments at how certain lines were so perfectly shaped and unique. Mabel flushed with pride, gullible enough to be suckered into the complements. Those fingers skirted over her hand, barely touching her, hovering as he spoke and pointed out each line and what they meant for her.

Dipper was taken aback slightly, baffled by the behaviour. The display in front of him looked just as fake as one could expect. A showman acting out a script for a client, overflowing with complements and pleasing comments. He couldn't understand why.

Dipper knew this man. He felt as if he knew him like his own shadow, personally, intimately. He knew those hands, the weight and feel. Cipher was capable of magic, persuasive, dangerous magic. But watching him with Mabel, cradling her hand so softly while making flirtatious comments, it made him suddenly so skeptical of everything he thought he knew. The discomfort eased, no longer feeling the strong energy from the man, or that same pull that drew him in like a magnet. It was just gone, disappeared like it never existed and Dipper was left confused. He looked between his sister and the two sets of hands laying out across the table. She had to see it too, he thought. This was all fake.

Cipher was, for some reason, not the same man Dipper recognized. The fear of him faded off, like the threat he'd been sensing was suddenly proven to be irrational and of his own creation. He felt hollow and foolish. Empty almost, like something was taken away from him.

Dipper was pulled from his overthinking by Mabel's girly laughing over something said to her. He huffed heavily, not caring for the way Mabel's hand lay across Cipher's outstretched palm.

“Aren't you just a special shooting star,” Cipher said.

Mabel beamed. She perked up and gave Dipper a smug look. He just rolled his eyes.

“This line here, where it is so high on your palm...” he added, scarcely touching the line with a fingernail. “...means your outgoing. Likewise, affectionate.”

Dipper scoffed under his breath, earning him a sideways kick to the shin under the table from his sister.

“Independent and confident,” Cipher went on, pretending not to notice their sibling bickering. “Congratulations, you're going to have a very long life filled with such happiness and joy. You're just the type of person to get whatever you put your mind to.”

Cipher let go of Mable's hand, letting it slide and drop from his own. She immediately gathering it up in front of her face, staring into her own palm like it held the answers to life's greatest mysteries. She looked so spell bound and amazed over nothing. It made Dipper incredibly irritated. He shook his head at her, wanting to get up and leave. He made a noise of disbelief and annoyance. Then Cipher extended his hand out to him.

Dipper sighed. He didn't dignify the man with a direct look, finding a spot on the wall beyond his shoulder to stare at instead.

“Your turn,” Cipher said, waiting patiently.

He wasn't exactly interested, and crossed his arms for a moment. Cipher sat poised and waiting, despite the attitude he was receiving. It made Dipper feel more obligated to comply. He sighed again and gave up. Dipper unfolded his arms and reached out his hand. His hand lay hesitantly in the air, fingers curled and tight. For a moment he stayed that way, slowly letting out a steady breath. Dipper didn't know why he was doing this. Still, he didn't pull away or drop his hand, only let Cipher take it between his two, cradling it and easing them down to the table.

Knuckled lightly tapped against the old stained wood tabletop. It was smooth and cool against Dipper's wrist. In almost felt like ice in comparison to the burning head of Cipher's hands. It warmed his skin down to the bone, and Dipper's fingers wanted to relax on their own accord under that heat. The grip around his hand was strong and firm, encasing his own like a tender embrace. Cipher ran his finger's over Dipper's skin, rubbing little circles as he uncurled each finger one by one. Nail scraped over his palm lightly.

Dipper's breath shuttered. He turned from the wall to watch as their fingers interlaced before slowly sliding apart again. Dipper licked his lips. He looked up to find Cipher staring back at him and not his palm. Those two toned eyes bore into him, pinning him in place. A hot sweat broke out over Dipper's brow. He felt exposed, uncomfortably stripped down and left to be gawked at. He could feel the heat in his face, the quick beat of his pulse pounding in his ears. Cipher wasn't reading his palm. It felt more like he was trying to see into his head and read his mind.

Dipper blinked and looked back down, distracted by the small tug at his small finger. Cipher's long fingers had smoothed out their hands together, intently keeping them pressed over one another. Dipper stared at the slim fingers and bony knuckles, the rows of metal rings which glinted in the red glowing lights. He felt oddly dizzy and far too hot. It felt too similar to his dreams, the press of hands against his bare skin, intimately pushed up under his clothes, incredibly personal touches, boiled down to the slide of their hands.

“You're a soft one, Bambi,” Cipher finally said. “Too good for this world.”

Dipper was pulled from his thought, finding that an odd statement. He looked to him for an explanation but they feel into another pause of silence, speaking through the press of their hands. Dipper's fingers twitched, wanting to grab the fingers which kept moving over his own. He noticed Cipher hadn't stopped staring intently into Dipper's face, too steady and unwavering. The man barely even blinked.

Ciphers thumb slipped passed Dipper's palm, pressing down into his wrist. The small pressure ignited his pulse, rapidly fluttering against the thin callous.

“Alone... scared...” Cipher smiled. “Don't worry none, that'll be done with. You're one of the lucky ones that won't have to put up with life's bullshit.”

Dipper stared across the table. A chill climbed his spine which prickled his skin, the fine hairs on his arms stand on end. That magnetic pull was back, trying to drag him in and take him over. Dipper parted his lips, wanting to tell him to stop but it just hung open and still. Then Cipher said with such a fake sweetness, condescending and mocking,

“Have your dreams been bothering you lately? You have dark circles.”

Dipper twitched, reacting in a knee jerk way. He wrenched his hand back, curled his fingers into a tight fist in his lap. The hot blush which stained his cheeks faded quickly to a cold white colour. Abruptly, Dipper got to his feet. His knees struck the table edge and made it rattled and scrape back across the floor. Mabel said something but whatever it was sounded like a distant echo he couldn't understand.

Cipher leaned back, unaffected by his behaviour. He ran a hand through his neatly styled hair. He smiled wide, showing his overly whited teeth and tilted his head to the side.

“Pardon, I'm only teasing... Dipper,” he said in a breathy voice.

“Shut up,” Dipper barked and rushed out of the room without ever glancing back over his shoulder.

He tripped and stumbled over the rug but didn't fall once. It didn't matter if Mabel was following him, and he didn't care to check. Dipper ran from the shop entirely, not stopping until her pushed through the door and safely outside on the sidewalk, scaring a few people who were just passing by when he came suddenly running into them.

He must have looked a complete mess to them, hair sticking to the seat on his face, panting heavily and fisting at his sweater like he couldn't breathe. Dipper sucked in a loud breath or fresh air and groaned, glad he could no longer smell cedar and vanilla. He blinked, feeling a dry sting at the back of his eyes as the bright sunlight burned them.

Dipper stumbled forward a few steps before colliding with the lamp post. He clung to it in order to hold himself upright. His chest hurt. His lungs strained and heavy. It was like something inside him was going to explode. He tried to calm down and swallow his growing panic but it was hard. Dipper closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out everything around him, the people whispering behind his back, the cars loudly passing by. The adrenaline running a marathon through his system left him shaking. He placed a hand over his chest, rubbing the spot which felt so heavy. Under all the layers he could feel the solid lump of crystal which hung off his necklace. He gripped it tightly between his fist.

Dipper felt like he was dying. He pressed his forehead into the hot metal post. In his delusion, it somehow felt cold against his sweating face. He told himself he wasn't crazy or imagining things. It wasn't possible that any of this was all in his head.

But the intense look of Cipher's eyes came to his mind again, bringing an overwhelming wave of anxiety and sudden impulses that he didn't know how to explain. Dipper wasn't to recklessly run into traffic, to scream and cry out until his voice gave out. He wanted to go back into the shop and throw himself at the man that stalked his dreams, to feel those arms around him and to have those hands on his skin. Again, he told himself he wasn't crazy. He didn't believe it.

Dipper squeezed his fingers tighter around the fabric of his hoodie and the necklace underneath. The skin of his palm still felt warm and tingly, like they was still someone rubbing soft patterns into his skin.

Dipper opened his heads and looked down at his hands as he moved to hold them out in front of himself. They trembled but he slid them together, lacing his fingers as he tried to mimic the same firm grip Cipher had on him. It was pointless and failed in comparison. Their hands were nothing a like, too different in size and steadiness. It wasn't anywhere as warm or as strangely possessive. Dipper gave a weak, pathetic laugh at himself for even trying.

“...damn it...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy last day of Hanukkah! Happy early Christmas! Happy early Solstice! Happy-whatever you're celebrating this year!
> 
> Longer chapter than normal for this story but I really wanted to make sure all this got included!!  
> What's everyone's thoughts so far? How do you like the third person limited point of view via Dipper? What're your feelings on Bill so far? (Mostly wrote his character after rewatching the first season of True Blood and loving Rene's smarmy charm. Also not going to completely write the accent into his dialogue because that gets weird and confusing to do, sorry.)   
> What about Dipper? Magic, voodoo, or is he really just that thirsty for Bill?
> 
> I love love love hearing from all of you who comment. It makes me so excited to write the more chapters!
> 
> [Bill's palm tattoo](https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/346917977552273619/)  
> [Throat Tattoo Inspo](https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/311241024253306550/) not exactly this one but the idea was along this line. Can you tell I like tattoos?


	8. Chapter 8

Three days... and Dipper was pissed.

He threw the covers off him, screaming internally as he lay in his bed silently staring up toward the ceiling. His eyes stayed fixed to the blank darkness that stretched above his head. There was nothing to see but the smooth paint that covered old leak damaged and god knows what else, mold and asbestos, or something. He didn't really care, that wasn't what was bothering his mind at two in the morning. It was just easier to glare up at the plane white paint with a burning hatred that anything else, especially when he hadn't slept for more than an hour at a time in the last three days.

The misplaced anger made his roll onto his side, eyes wide open, staring off into the corner of the room looking for something, hopefully someone, to blame for what was keeping him awake. However, nothing was there, nothing moved or breathed. Only inanimate objects cast in darkness, harmless and lifeless.

Three days of looking over his shoulder. Three days of holding his breath and listening for a sign in the dark. Too many nights of the absolute pure silence that kept him awake. It was coming to the point where the silence was worse than the familiar looming presence that had once followed him everywhere. Now there was no sound, quiet to the point that Dipper could make out the old grandfather clocking chiming the hour, echoing from the stairwell, through a closed door and an entire other floor. It was maddening.

Dipper flopped over onto his back again, arms stretched out over the bed. He sighed. The soft breath sounded more like a scream that could shake the attic. He wanted to scream, to let out his anger and frustration, but it caught in his throat knowing that it would wake everyone in the house. Instead, he covered his face with his hands and tightly kept his lips closed, muffling himself as he whined a high-pitched sound into his palm.

He was so far passed tired that he felt more awake than he had ever been in his life. His eyes wouldn't even stay closed. They shot back and forth in the dark room, imagining that they were catching sight of movement. But as he rolled over to chase after what he thought was a shadow on the wall, Dipper was once against mistake. It was just the still, unmoving outline of the dresser. He crossed his arms and huffed. Dipper lifted his head up off the pillow and gave a frustrated headbutt back down into the worn out feathers.

At first, he'd been filled with panic, days ago, leaving Mabel behind as he ran home from town, running away from Cipher and the strange magnetic pull that left Dipper's hair standing on end. His blood had boiled in his veins, every nerve on high alert for danger. The slightest bend of a leaf would have him screaming, panting for air and sweating through his shirt. Dipper hid himself away in his room, unable to look at his uncles or his sister, scared they would try and pull the truth from him. A truth that he couldn't explain even to himself.

Would they even believe him, that he was being followed by the shadow of some stalker. Dipper didn't know if they would, or what they would do if they did. They might send him home. Cut him loose of having to work the rest of the summer and toss him on the next bus to California. He'd be far away then, in theory safe. That would be a good thing, but somehow, Dipper hated that idea. He hadn't wanted to come up to Gravity Falls if the first place, but now that he was there a part of him didn't want to leave just yet. He liked the fresh air and the free growth of nature. He liked to see the stars in the wide open sky, unobstructed by the skyline of a city or the lights of their heavily populated suburb. More over, it meant Dipper would be leaving Cipher here behind him and he'd be alone again.

He should want to put as many miles between him and that man as humanly possible. Dipper knew it, but couldn't admit to wanting to. He should want that. Somehow he'd gotten use to the shadow over his shoulder, the darkness lingering in his peripheral vision that followed him from room to room. It was a constant companion, even though a little unwanted and uninvited. But over time, he'd become a weird, inexplicable comfort. Loosing him now felt like cutting off an arm, being racked with a phantom pain that was more scary than he expected it to be.

Now, three days later, that pain was beginning to fester and burn him from the inside out. Because there was nothing left of Cipher in the small attic, no movement or sounds, no breathy whisper that echoed through his dreams. He'd vanished without a trace the second Dipper ran from that shop. And Dipper was pissed.

He found himself kicking all the covers down to the foot of the bed and swinging himself up from the mattress. Three days and no sight of him. Dipper had been expecting him eventually, but nothing. He crossed the room in a few long strides and ripped open the curtains. He'd even left his window open after the first night of pure silence. It was so quiet that even the crickets seemed to disappear from the backyard. Dipper leaned out through the window, looking about as he had the night before, and the night before that. He saw nothing but the undisturbed grass and the dark tree line along the edge of the property. He ground his teeth, jaw clenched tightly closed.

“Fuck you...” Dipper spat out, bitterly tasting the anger on his own tongue. Obviously, there was no response, not even an amused chuckle that was so irritating to Dipper's ears that it gave him uncomfortable butterflies in his stomach.

He dropped forward onto his forearms and stood quietly waiting for Cipher to show himself. There was an impatient tap of his finger against the rotting wood of the windowsill, but he stood and waited anyway. Dipper didn't expect him to show tonight. Three days was a long time, but he still kind of hoped that the familiar shadow would come. He hoped it would lead him from the window and ease him back into bed. Dipper missed the scent of cedar that left him too dizzy to think straight. He wanted to drift off to sleep smelling that perfume. But there was nothing for him on the night's soft breeze, only a hint of pine needles and dew coated grass.

Dipper licked his lips and sucked a breath in through his clenched teeth. “Fuck you...” he said again a little louder. Somehow and in some way, he hoped Cipher would hear him. Heavy with spite, he wanted the man to know that he was angry with him, that he felt abandoned and forgotten.

Dipper straightened up, knowing he wasn't going to be able to sleep again tonight. He huffed as he turned away from the window. With the curtains open, the moonlight streamed in. It lit the room enough to leave long stretches of shadows across his bed and walls. Dipper eyed the dark blotch which was his own, short and plump against the hardwood floor. He frowned at it, putting his anger behind his heavy glare.

He imagined the shadow to be Cipher's instead, as if the man was mocking him by showing up right at the height of his temper-tantrum. Dipper stomped his foot like a child.

“Oh, fuck off,” he bit out aggressively. “No one wants you here.”

Dipper went over to his bed and climbed back under the covers. He kept side eyeing his own shadow as it followed him through the room. The dark blob morphed and stretched as he moved and sat down on the bed, the mattress sunk and squeaked under the shift of his weight but the shadow stayed comfortably beside him.

“I didn't invite you...” he snapped rudely, as if the shadow would take a hint and go away. Dipper groaned and rubbed at his face. This was crazy. He was so far passed tired that he was becoming delusional, talking to his own shadow like it was a person. He told himself he was nuts, that this was all so ridiculous. He hit the mattress with a closed fist.

“Just leave me alone! I don't want you here!”

Dipper threw himself back on the bed and covered himself with the blankets, pulling at them until they were securely wrapped above his head. This way, buried in bed, it blocked out all the light and banished the shadows from his view. Dipper closed his eyes tightly and tried to ignore everything. If only he could will himself to sleep. At least then he wouldn't be able to overthink so much.

A small creak of wood made a noise somewhere in his room. Immediately, Dipper shot up in bed. The covers went flying as he jumped up from his small nest. He gasped from the sudden jolt, ready to find a tall lanky shadow moving across the glass of the window or pushing open the closet door. His feet fell clumsily over the hardwood, slapping as he stumbled a step forward. Dipper impulsively shouted, calling to who he hoped finally came for him,

“Cipher!”

However, there was nothing to see. The room was just as still as it had been before. Dipper panted, heart beating fast in his chest. His shoulders dropped with disappointment. The realization came slow, sinking into him like a cold dampness that clung to his bones. He'd been abandoned and left with nothing. Dipper stood silently in his room, blankly staring off into the far corner. He couldn't even find the energy into him to blink or move.

However long he stood there was completely lost to him. All he knew was by the time he reluctantly dragged himself back to bed and forced himself to lay down, his eyes were dry and stung, his legs hurt and pure exhaustion took hold. For a few hours, Dipper was able to pass out, stretched across his bed in a pathetic lump of self pity and depression.

The feeling never lessened, even as the day carried on. Another morning spent in a daze, fumbling as he dragged himself down for work, late and dressed in unwashed clothes. Another morning where he avoided everyone at breakfast, choosing to not show his face until it was absolutely necessary.

Even when he made it to work, the morning passed slow and uneventful. Dipper stared out the window, idly pushing a broom over the same place on the floor while he blocked out the radio playing in the background. It was pointless for him to stay long. Wendy kicked him out mid shift, picking up on the lethargic energy coming off him. It was amazing really. He was actually managing to do even less work than she did in a shift. She had been equally as concerned as she had been sarcastically impressed.

He didn't argue with her and left without more than a nod and quiet apology.

Not wanting to be in his room for another day in a row, Dipper wandered to his greenhouse to give his neglected garden some long over due attention. It was a chore that required no hard thought on his part and just a little physical work. Potted plants were watered, a few sun burnt leaves were pruned away and the windows were opened fully to let in more fresh air.

Dipper ran his finger along the salt line which still rimmed the windowsill. He'd put it there days ago now but the little flecks of salt were still perfectly arranged, undisturbed by himself or anyone else. It didn't slip his memory that he put it there because of Cipher's uncomfortable presence in the yard, or how it had scared and unnerved him. It still did honestly. Dipper wasn't exactly happy with the man being anywhere near him but the absence was straining on his nerves and a loneliness was set in his chest which he blamed himself for. He left himself get attached. He flicked the line of salt, breaking the protective circle to his greenhouse with the one quick swipe of a nail.

Nothing happened afterwards, not that he was thinking something might. As if one small barrier would immediately have Cipher running to the yard to see him again. However, Dipper somehow had himself convinced that it would have done something along those lines. Something that would ease the desperate ache in his heart. Saddened by the silence, he set outside with his pruning sheers. 'Three days and counting', he reminded himself.

His mind wandered as he worked around his plants, carefully snipping off blooming sprigs on lavender and large round tufts of the strawberry hydrangea. The soft pastel flowers quickly formed a bundle in his arm of considerable size, putting a slight strain to his wrist which had to hold them in place.

The small distracting was less than helpful. Every so often Dipper caught himself looking around the yard, hoping pathetically that he'd see someone ridiculously tall come walking across the grass. He listened for the sound of polished dress shoes kicking at the gravel along the driveway. It made him grumble low in his throat, bitter and irritated. Dipper frowned, muttering under his breath as he cussed out a companion that only existed in his mind.

“...fucking bastard...”

“Hey Dipper!”

Dipper tensed on reflex, shoulders raised to his ears. He froze for a short breath, holding perfectly still in hoped Mabel wouldn't see him if he didn't move. Who was he kidding, Mabel wasn't that stupid. He saw her bounding towards him from the house. She had a warm, happy look on her face that made his own crinkle with annoyance before she even got over to the greenhouse. Time must have gotten away on him more than he'd realized, because her shift at the gift shop shouldn't be done yet. They conveniently worked opposite shifts most days. Stan's way of making sure they didn't goof off all the time. And while that could be boring, it actually helped Dipper when he was trying to actively avoid his sister.

Mabel came to a rough stop beside him, almost colliding with his shoulder. He moved back a bit, protecting himself and his bundle of flowers from her chaotic energy.

“Wanna go get ice cream?” she asked, hopeful and excited. There was a slight bounce to her as she rocked on her toes. Dipper shook his head though, uninterested.

“No... thanks,” he said.

“Come on, please? You haven't been up for doing _anything_ lately,” she whined loudly. It wasn't even an exaggeration, although she made it feel like one as she stressed her words dramatically. She pouted at him as if that would change his mind. “Come get ice cream with me. Ice cream's good. You like ice cream. Please, please, please.”

Dipper sighed quietly but held his tongue. He knew he couldn't avoid Mabel forever and so far he'd been extremely lucky with the excuse of a late work shift or a faked headache. Still, their uncle's house wasn't exactly large and that lucky streak was bound to run out. He wanted to tell her to go away, but he tried not to say it out loud. It'd come off as mean and Dipper wasn't trying to be or upset her. So instead, he shook his head slowly again.

“I really don't want to...”

“Come on, yes you do. When have you ever turned down ice cream before?” she pushed.

He ignored her, moving to set his sheers down carefully. If Dipper was being honest with himself, he didn't want to be alone. That was probably the last thing he wanted or could wish for, but at the same time, Mabel's company wasn't what he needed. Dipper stared off toward the corner of the greenhouse just to have somewhere to look that wasn't his sister's face. The breeze rustled the lavender in a lazy sway. It was gentle and distracting.

Mabel said something he didn't quite hear but Dipper didn't care to listen. She'd wear him down. He knew she would eventually. All it took was enough nagging. He sighed, feeling defeated and tried. His arms almost dropped at his sides, lifeless and heavy.

“I haven't gotten to see you, like, all week!” Mabel gave him a slight push to the shoulder. “After you took off and left me with Bill – Thanks for the by the way! It was super awkward! He's there being polite about it while I'm trying to explain that you're not as rude as you came off as. But I didn't get to see you all night! So, you kind of owe me-”

Dipper head spun. He turned to her, eyes wide and unfocused. For a brief moment the world seemed blurred, like he was looking at his sister through a pane of dirty glass. She felt distant and cold all of a sudden and Dipper could grasp onto her if he tried. He sucked in a breath and almost fell forward as he turned completely around to her.

“-asked Stan for the rest of the afternoon off so we could hang out. He looked like he was going to explode. The vein in his forehead was going all crazy,” she kept saying. “It was kinda funny-”

“Who?” Dipper cut in, solely able to focus on one thing Mabel had said, one word echoing in his brain that grew louder as he repeated it.

“What? Stan?”

“No! Him... I mean... Cipher?” Dipper blinked rapidly trying to clear his eyes from whatever film was screwing with his vision. He told himself it was the sun in his face.

“Oh! Bill,” Mabel corrected.

“Bill...” he said finally out loud. The name made his tongue feel heavy even though it was just a short, one syllable name. Nothing scary about it or anything intimidating. But his lips twitched as he wanted to say it again. Dipper swallowed and licked his lips to keep himself from speaking.

Eyes clearer, squinting from the sun, Dipper watched blankly as his sister kept talking and making animated gestures with her hands. There was something about ice cream again mixed through whatever she was saying but for some reason it was like listening to white noise, a constant hum of static. He tried to understand her but so few words passed through the buzzing in his ears that it was impossible to focus. It took him a full minute to even realize when she stopped talking. Her eyes intently gazing into his own, staring, patiently waiting for him to respond. She said in name but even that seemed foreign.

“Dipper!” Mabel clapper her hands in front of his face and he jumped, almost stumbling backward over his own feet. Dipper gasped and blink, coming back to hopefully a similar thread of reality as Mabel. She gave a nervous chuckle. “What was that?”

“I don't know...” Dipper admitted, confused himself. His free hand came up to grab at the front of his worn t-shirt. The skin underneath felt clammy with sweat and far too hot. He pulled the fabric off his skin, hating how it stuck and slung to his collar.

“You look like you're about to pass out or something. Are you feeling okay?” Mabel said, this time with genuine concern. Her excitable smile fell to a thin line. Dipper nodded his head though.

“Yeah, no... I mean – I think I'm fine.”

“Because I can go get uncle Ford-”

“No!” Dipper blurted out. For some reason, he really didn't want either one of his uncles knowing about this or even thinking something could be wrong. Mabel went to argue but Dipper repeated to her that he was fine. He said it again, this time trying to believe it himself.

Dipper slapped on a large fake smile and laughed for his sister's benefit. “Really, Mabel, I'm fine. You don't have to do that... It's hot out here!” he said brightly like it was a bad joke. “I just need some... fresh air.”

In a rush of sudden panic, Dipper shoved his arms out at her. The large bundle of flowers were dropped against Mabel's chest and she had to fumble a bit to not drop them all. She yelped, not expecting it. However her surprise gave Dipper the distraction he needed to take off behind the greenhouse. He took off at a sprint across the yard aimed at the tree line and the many hiking trails that wrapped through the woods. Far behind he could hear Mabel shouting his name, confused at first but then again more firmly as Dipper got further away from her in a hurry.

Dipper waved back over his shoulder, not even sure if Mabel could see it. “I'll be back!” he yelled as he kept up a fast jog passed the fence.

This time as he entered the woods, he saw the paths. He didn't know where they lead to, but as long as he stayed on one this time he couldn't get lost. His feet fell unevenly paced, a mixture of running and falling over himself as the hiking path wrapped around trees and tipped sharply uphill.

The trail was empty of other people so it left Dipper alone to loose himself among the trees. He climbed uphill, watching the dirt as he struggled to keep up his running. The path was heavily packed down from years of use, imprinted into the earth like a big stamp. Occasionally he passed by an old trail marker, picket signs to indicate direction, but other than that, it was just himself and the dirt at his feet.

Dipper's running slowed to a brisk walk. He was scared to go any slower just in case Mabel decided to chase after him. He paused to rest against a tree. Other than the exhausted panting of his own breath, there was only the stillness of nature. No one screamed his name, there were no angry foot steps, he was able to calm down and keep on walking.

He couldn't tell how long he'd been walking. He didn't have a watch or his phone. It couldn't have been very long but Dipper's feet hurt inside his canvas shoes and his knees wobbled as he tried to push himself forward another few steps uphill. He huffed a loud sigh, out of breath from exercise he wasn't use to.

Up ahead of him there was a small separation in the tree where a tall blanket of overgrown grass stood tall. It had yet to be trampled flat by hikers or animals. He felt it would be a good spot to take a break for a little while. The thought was he could just collapse over in the tall grass, nap if he was able. As he came up to it though, he saw why there was a gap in the trees and what lay beyond them.

Dipper brushed his way through the tall grass which reached his hips, gently trying not to disturb the seed pods growing at their tips. What he found beyond in the clearing surprised him. The patch of grass stopped just shy of a rocky ledge, no more than a few feet wide. The uneven shelf of rocks created a precariously steep overhang into a small circular gorge. Dipper stood on the rocks, carefully peering over the side. Below him was a pit of water, enclosed by the cliff side and touched the mountains on the other end. From there Dipper could even see the abandoned mining tracks running along the mountain's curved rock wall. He knew of the mine being there but didn't know they lived so close. The tracks were broken in places, hanging off the large rocks in chunks of splintered wood runners and rusted metal rails.

Dipper edged back from the cliff side. A small pebbled rolled under his shoe. Curious, he bent down to pick it up and let it roll in his palm. He sat on the rocks, inching forward until his legs could dangle over the side of the shelf. His feet swayed in the open air. It was peaceful here, quiet and warm in the sunshine. There was a small echoing of birds singing but other than that, there was nothing but the still silence which Dipper hoped to find. He sighed, content.

He passed the small rock between his hands before carelessly tossing it over the edge of the cliff. He watched at it fell to the water below. It made no sound as it broke the surface. The water rippled in rings, before smoothing over with its original dark blue colour. It looked deep.

Softly Dipper huffed and frowned a bit. Maybe there was a novelty to the quiet stillness of the gorge. The silence lingered awkwardly and uncomfortable. He became more annoyed by it with each passing minute. It felt empty and left him lonelier than ever. Dipper threw another stray pebble, farther this time, out into the ravine, watching as it sailed through the air before falling below.

He hated how he wanted someone beside him, someone to share the view with, to be close to. A friend or someone, anything that would provide him the company he deeply needed. Dipper licked his lips before biting down into the soft skin. He chewed it between his front teeth.

A small chuckle came up from his chest, breaking through the utter silence of the clearing. He was hesitant at first, kept quiet by embarrassment, but he finally spoke out. He talked to no one but himself, however pretending again that someone was there to answer.

“Hey...” he greeted as his eyes shifted to the side to look over his shoulder. Dipper made himself believe there was a familiar shadow lurking just off in his peripheral, the lanky outline of someone that didn't want to sit with him just yet. Dipper cleared his throat. “If you were actually here... I'd offer you a seat, or something... If you wanted to sit. Wouldn't blame you if you didn't...”

Dipper wasn't entirely sure why he was having a one-sided conversation with himself, letting his imagination fill in the blank responses of another person. It was ridiculous but there he was. He rolled his eyes, imagining he heard some kind of snarky comment.

“Fine. Don't sit.” His shoulders dropped. “Like I care...”

He threw another rock as hard as he could. Frustration was boiling inside him, rising up in his chest quickly and out of control. Dipper clicked his tongue, unimpressed by the silent treatment his own shadow was giving him. In his mind it could talk back, if it wanted to.

“You're a creep anyway,” he accused him bitterly. He could think of a few stronger words to describe _him_ , but Dipper supposed 'creep' worked well enough. “Why should I invite you to sit with me? S'not like you deserve it... You left once already...”

Dipper kicked his feet and sat back on his hands. “Thanks for that, by the way! I love being harassed endlessly then – fucking – up and ditched!”

He laughed a little, a pathetic small laugh that came out more like a puff of hot air all at once. “Sure makes a guy feel special...”

After three days Dipper couldn't even pretend that he felt Cipher's hand in his own. His fingers twitched, wanting to lace between someone else's. The memory of the weight was long gone, as was the warmth and texture. It was too unique to replicate or fake, no matter how Dipper tried to squeeze his own wrist. It was simply gone, taken away all too quick and easily. Not that he knew why he cared so much, or why he caught himself holding his fingers as he did. It was driving him crazy, this weird, unexplained need that burned under his skin. It was like a spell he couldn't break with salts and charms.

“Screw you...” Dipper whined as he tangled his fingers through his hair. Knots snagged as he brushed his bangs out of his face. He closed his eyes tightly and let out an aggressive snarl. He kicked his feet, an outburst of sudden violent anger.

Dipper rolled onto his side, clumsily standing back up. “Who needs you anyway! Yeah, You! I hope you can hear my, you fucking creep!”

He glared across the grass as though Cipher, Bill, was causally standing there himself. Dipper could see it in his head as clear as if he were real, the lazy stance of the man leaning on his cane, the way he looked down his nose with a smug expression, like he was above everyone and everything.

It made Dipper want to spit at him and bare his teeth like a dog, he was so maddened by it. The cocky tone of voice that still rung loudly in his head. The ridiculously vague palm reading that was just short of being completely fake. So he was 'a soft one'. So, what? What was it suppose to even mean? Either Bill was laughing at him or just plainly being condescending. Whichever it was, it pissed Dipper off to no end.

He wanted to throw everything he could get his hands on. Small pebbles weren't big enough, didn't make enough noise to satisfy him. Dipper took a swing with a closed fist through the empty air. Man, he'd love to wipe that pompous smirk off Bill's face.

He was convinced Bill was laughing at him, finding Dipper's anger amusing at best. “Oh, what do you want?” he snapped.

There was never going to be answer to anything he said. He kicked at the rocks along the edge. The pebbled were sent over the side in a dusty cascade. A small twinge of jealousy went with them. All the rocks disappeared under the water, finding a perfect and peacefully place at the bottom of the lake. He could jump too. It would be so easy. No one would laugh at him then. No one could reject or disappoint him.

Dipper's brow creased deeply as he stared down at the water. He challenged the imaginary voice in his head. “Think I wouldn't do it? You want to see?”

He shuffled forward until the toe of his shoe just barely passed the cliff edge. It was quite the fall down to the water, farther than Dipper originally thought now that he was looking over the side with intent. He swallowed thickly, feeling a nervous quiver deep in his gut, turning uncomfortable, reminding him that this was a bad idea. He squashed the feeling down, not letting it get the better of him. He rubbed his face and took a large breath in, ready. “You think I don't have it in me? Well, screw you! You'll see...”

He waited briefly for a response, daring Bill to finally speak up or show himself. If he was planning on ever doing so now would be an ideal time. “Well? Do you want me to stop?” Dipper asked, almost yelling. He flung his arms wide. “Because I'll do it! I'll show you _soft_...”

He'd waited long enough for a response to manifest itself out of now where. Positioned on the edge her bent his knees, ready to fling himself off into the open air. He'd fall and sink just like a stone, all the way to the bottom of the lake.

Dipper felt like he was about to choke on his own tongue. Who was he trying to kid... Shoulders deflating, he knew there was no way he'd actually jump. He was too much of a coward. Too chickenshit to let himself fall. Not afraid to die, but afraid of failing at it.

He sighed, groaning low. The sound was muffled by his hands coming up to scrub over his face. What was he thinking. This was stupid and he knew that. Whatever he was trying to prove backfired. Dipper dropped his hands to his sides, deciding it was now a good time to head back home. He'd go find Mabel and they would go get ice cream together. Tomorrow he would go in for his afternoon shift in the gift shop and act like he was alright, like he was enjoying his summer vacation. He didn't need Bill and his underlining crazy.

Dipper turned away from the edge, ready to head back despite everything. As he did, a small rock came loose under his shoe. His heel slipped to one side, ankle twisting at an odd angle which took out his balance. Very quickly his whole body fell sideways, unable to catch himself on anything as he tipped over the edge. Air rushed passed his ears, smothering the sound of surprise he made, a small gasp or it could have been a scream. There was no time to tell as the cliff side grew further away from him and he fell backwards to the lake below.

Just like that, all at once, the water crashed over him and the world went dark. The force which he broke through the water hurt excruciatingly, like falling head first into concrete. Neck and shoulders taking most of the impact, Dipper was too stunned to register the stinging pain shooting through his skull.

Whatever small amount of air he had managed to suck back into his lungs was knocked out in one aggressive punch to his ribs. Air escaped and water entered, pushing into his mouth and nose until Dipper was uncontrollably swallowing without relief.

He thrashed in the water, unsure which way was up or down. Desperately his feet kicked, hoping that it would propel him to the surface but his legs were already so tired, slow and weighed down by wet jeans. He could feel himself sinking lower. Panic. Ice cold panic set into his muscles. He couldn't breath or move much more than grab desperately for air far above like it was a solid substance.

Dipper's eyes cracked open. Through the murky water he could at least find the light of the sun, shining and rippling over head. It's bright light taunted in, making him feel small and hopeless. He still reached for it, stretching out his arm, fingers spanning wide. He didn't want to die there, cold and alone at the bottom of the lake. No one knew he was there. No one would find him until it was far too late. He changed his mind. When faced with death, he was very afraid. Afraid of the slow, strangling sensation of drowning. Afraid of the knowledge that his body would rot and bloat in the water, left behind and forgotten.

Dipper felt the water move against his face in a slow caress. He tried to squint through the murk but all he could still see was the blurred sun over head. But it was getting bigger and brighter. There was a small shove to his back, right in between his shoulder blades no bigger than a hand. Something pushed him to the point his head broke the surface.

He choked, still breathing in more water than he was air. But it was enough to get him coughing. Small wisps of fresh air made it through to his lungs. In large gulps he drank the lake water down as he struggled to breath again.

Dipper kicked, trying to side paddle his way to the small crest of rocky beach. He barely was able to drag himself more than knee deep out of the water before exhausting himself. On his hands and knees, face inches from the surface, Dipper stayed there as he choked and spat up water. Beneath his face the lake sloshed about, splashing him as his body trembled. It didn't even register against his skin when the water hit his cheek. He was numb, too cold and petrified to move from where he stayed hunched over. For long minutes he just knelt there breathing heavily until the coughing subsided, replaced with nothing more than a raw, rasping wheeze of a sigh.

Very slowly he was able to sit back on his heels, ignoring how the water moved in slow waves against his torso and arms. His head hurt. That was all he could think about. A sharp painful throbbing at the base of his skull where it met his neck. It hurt so badly that there were black spots lingering in his vision. Dipper wanted to go home and sleep but he dared not move yet. He took a long breath in, held it, and let it out. A silent stream of tears started to roll down his cheeks. He blinked through them and groaned.

“Holy fuck.... fuck.. fuck. Fuck. Fuck...” For a minute that was all he could even begin to say.

By the time Dipper was able to drag himself from the water and long after he found a way out of the gorge, the sun was beginning to hide itself behind the tall trees turning the bright afternoon shy to a muted navy in anticipation for evening. He followed the lake's run off stream, carefully taking each step at a cautious pace, watching in fixed concentration as he put one shoe in front of the other. The soaked fabric of his shoes left small puddles in the sun caked dirt. He could feel the way his shirt was starting to dry against his skin and hated it with a passion. The martial was getting stiff and itchy and he wanted to strip it off and throw it away.

His head still hurt which was making him a bit dizzy and sick. More than once he had to stop in fear of vomiting.

Dipper stumbled forward down the path toward home with uneven, confused steps. He wasn't even sure he was going in the right direction until he saw the Mystery Shack's sign, large and decrepit, from across the property line. It took all his energy to make it over the lawn and pull himself up the few steps of the back porch. His body leaned on the door frame and with a relieved sigh he opened the screen door.

The kitchen smelt of baked potatoes and some kind of chicken. It hit Dipper's nose with an overwhelming scent that made him feel disgustingly nauseous. The clatter of forks against porcelain plates came to a sudden and confused stop as Dipper came inside without any acknowledgement for the group sitting around the small table. He didn't meet anyone's eye, although he knew they were looking at him. Instead he trudge through the room, letting his sneakers squeak and scuff across the clean tile.

Stan leaned back in his chair, looking him up and down before scoffing out a teasing laugh. “Geez, kid, what happened to you?”

Dipper waved over his shoulder but he didn't stop or look back at his uncle. He muttered under his breath before disappearing down the hallway.

“...fell in the water...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hurt Dipper a lot... emotionally and physically. I'm sorry...
> 
> Sorry for long breaks between chapters. I rewrite each chapter probably three times before I'm decently satisfied with it enough to post. If I left this another few days, I more than likely would have done started over again.  
> I love that people are still reading it though! I know it's a niche au idea but I'm just so happy that those who are reading it enjoy it!  
> Feel free to leave comment and predictions.


	9. Chapter 9

Dipper pouted his lower lip. Perhaps it was a little childish, maybe even a little over dramatic, but he just wanted to sulk and wallow in his own self pity and stupidity. It wasn't much to ask for really. He curled his knees up toward his chest, trying to make himself as small as he could while he sat on the floor of his room, back pressed to the side of his bed. To emphasize his exaggerated teen angst, he's only left the single side table lamp turned on so he could sit in partial darkness. It was weak lamp and left the room in a very low light, tinted orange by the old bulb. Dipper huffed on a small breath and tugged the hood of his baggy yellow sweatshirt up over his damp hair and pouted harder.

It had scared him at first, the speckling of memory loss which wanted to brake the last few hours of his life into chunks, like some poorly edited movie clips. The headache still lingered even with the aid of a painkiller that he'd found in the bathroom cabinet. The back of his head throbbed as he tried to think.

He remembered finding the nearly empty bottle of medication, remembered trying to swallow the chalky pill on a dry throat. But he had little memory of climbing the stairs for the bathroom or the shower he took to try and wash away the smell of dirty lake water. The whole memory had been crossed with whiteout, erased and wiped clean, coming to again only when he stood naked in the bathroom, turning the hot water off.

Dipper had looked at himself in the steam coated mirror and barely recognized his own ghostly pale face. The dark circles under his eyes made him look dead and hollow. And that face scared him. He had ran a hand over the mirror, streaking the moisture across the glass. It didn't help improve what he saw. The reflection remained, blankly staring back at himself with wide brown eyes, dulled from exhaustion and fear. Drenched and pale, Dipper found he looked gross and sickly. It disturbed him enough to turn away. He wrapped himself in a towel and took off for his room.

Once there, he didn't leave again. The last few hours were spent right there, sitting the exact same spot on the floor. His concern for his own well being had numbed, to the point where he hardly cared. He had long lost feeling in his tailbone from the hardwood under him, but he still sat quietly. It had felt a little better when he pulled on dry clothes, finding some comfort in the soft pajama pants and large hoodie.

It didn't, however, fix him completely. His legs and arms were still sore and tired and Dipper still felt as thought he'd been beaten up.

At some point his uncles had come to find him. He vaguely remembered them coming to talk. The memory blurred together. Same as how he knew Mabel had poked her head in, but he couldn't say how long ago that was. Dipper knew it wasn't a dream though, because they had brought him up a plate of reheated leftovers, and Ford had brought him a warm lavender tea steeped with a splash of milk.

He hadn't refused any of the offers but also hadn't felt hungry enough to eat what was brought up to him. The idea of eating made his stomach turn and he didn't want to risk putting anything in there. He had drank some of the tea, swallowing in small sips. The warm liquid eased the dry scrape of his throat. The mug sat beside him on the floor now, long grown cold. It still smelt nice though, fresh and creamy.

Dipper hunched over his knees, furiously examining the small budding pine of a new succulent. It was just the smallest pieces, freshly rooted from an experiment with propagating loose branches. There were a number of cups scattered around his room, each one with a different piece of the original plant.

Dipper lightly poked at the succulent. It didn't move or respond to him at all. It didn't grow or flutter with affection like his greenhouse did every time he gave his plants attention. He huffed and frowned, too mad to provide his succulent with any healthy magic. Honestly, Dipper was half expecting it to wither and die the second he touched it, soaking up the negative energy he was bathed in.

Out of no where, a shiver ran up his back, startling him awake from his daze. Dipper blinked, sharply lifting his head as if he heard someone speak. However his room as quiet and still. No one was there and nothing moved, not even the blurred shadows on the walls. If he strained his ears hard enough Dipper thought he could make out the sound of the television downstairs but not much. It was just a dull background hum to him in the attic.

Curiosity made him sit up. Being as quiet as he could, Dipper set the succulent down at his side and rolled to his knees. Still a little shaky and slow, he made it to his feet. Each step was an effort, joints aching and wobbling under the weight of his body and Dipper cautiously held a hand out to catch himself in case he fell.

His bare feet padded lightly across the floor as he moved towards the window. Something nagged at the back of his mind to look outside. He reached out for the curtains, taking hold of them between his fingers. He tried to barely touch them or make them stir. As subtle as he could, he peeked through the folds. The backyard was dark as expected. The sun had set and the night sky was starting to become dotted in stars. If he tried hard enough, Dipper could squint and see the last of the navy blue streaks of fading daylight beyond the trees, quickly melting into the dark black of night.

There didn't seem to be anything to look at. Normally the porch light would be on, shining a small light across the grass, outlining the tool shed and Dipper's greenhouse. But from where he peered out the window, the small structures across the yard were nothing but dark outlines, blending into the backdrop of trees and odd shapes. Dipper wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for, but something had called to him. It had been a quiet little command in the back of his subconscious, nothing more than a tiny whisper. Maybe not even real, but like a gentle nudge, physically pulling at him towards the window.

After a long moment with no sign of movement, Dipper was about to let the curtains fall when a small flicker of light came from the greenhouse. It glowed in the dark yard. Dipper froze as he stared down at it. Through the glass he could see the outline of a human figure standing in the centre of his greenhouse. They didn't move, seeming to be contently looking over the plants growing along the windowsill. Dipper could tell the figure was tall and that their back was facing him. The low light was absorbed by the dark clothes they wore. But the second Dipper saw the swept back blonde hair, he was pushing himself from the curtains, falling over himself to get to the bedroom door.

He opened it quickly with a strong tug, the door almost swinging back to hit the wall. Quickly he caught it before the wall did. Dipper held his breath and listened closely for the noises coming from downstairs. He wanted to avoid drawing their attention and slip out to the backyard unnoticed. He especially didn't want them to see Bill.

Barefoot and cautiously inching forward on his toes, Dipper eased himself down the rickety stairs. Each step was taken with a held breath and a prayer. The wood creaked but only slightly as his weight shifted between his feet.

He made it to the second floor without incident but there was another set to tackle. As he stepped down onto the first step, Dipper could hear the television clearly, followed by Stan's voice barking out at whatever show he was watching. Ford chastised him for swearing, followed by Mabel giggling away in the background.

Dipper tried to speed up and take two steps at a time but caught himself midway down the stairs as he landed too heavily. His foot fell harder than intended and a small creek of the wood made him stop dead. He grabbed onto the railing and waited.

Down the hallway in the living room, no one seemed to stir from their conversation, not even a break between syllables that lead him to believe they heard anything. Still, Dipper didn't let his breath go just yet. He continued to lower himself down to the floor, stopping and waiting for someone to step into the hallway and catch him. No one did though. He let his fingers slide from the railing.

Dipper backed himself into the kitchen, his bare feet practically silent against the tiled floor. There he ran on his toes across the room. The closer he got to the yard the more rushed he felt. He unlocked the room, less afraid of the noise it came. He pushed the door open and slipped outside, pressed to the frame. He left the door closed, like no one had been there at all.

Dipper stopped along the edge of the porch and stared out across the yard. He watched the greenhouse and the tall body inside. He still had his broad back turned, but Dipper could tell that Bill knew he was there. It was just a feeling, one that made him shiver with unease. Dipper crossed his arms around himself, protective and unsure.

The hesitation didn't completely stop him from stepping down off the porch. That annoyingly persistent pull at the core of his soul told Dipper to keep walking. He obediently listened to it, ignoring how the pebbled driveway hurt the heels of his feet with each step. Hands clenched into the hoodie's loose fabric, he moved slowly.

Off the gravel and through the grass, Dipper couldn't turn his attention away from Bill's straight back. His tall figure taking up the height of the greenhouse like a giant. Dipper tensed as he got closer, shoulders rounding to his ears. He shuffled forward until he came to the closed door of the greenhouse.

He reach out. His fingers trembled, slipping on the handle as he got the door open.

The small greenhouse was being lit by a little camping lantern, small and portable. It was tucked out of the way on a low hanging shelf. The gentle glow was warm and surreal, like a dreamy fantasy world, turning the plants different shades of unnatural green. The light sparked off the windows and left orbs of reflected light behind. Dipper couldn't see out through the glass, only the reflection bouncing back and forth like a fun-house mirror. He stepped inside, unintentionally closing the door behind him.

Bill remained still, not even flinching as the door closed. He looked over the plants, admiring them where they grew in neat rows. Dipper watched him from across the cramped space, how only a few short feet separated them. He wet his lips nervously and decided to speak.

“Bill...” Dipper said to get his attention. Whatever he had thought to say next caught in his throat and Dipper watched the man's back. Bill still didn't move much, but in the mirror of the windowpane, Dipper could see that he was staring back at him. Those bright eyes were fixed on their reflection, unwavering as they looked at one another. Dipper noticed how Bill's eyes finally matched in a brilliant shade of bright blue. He swallowed thickly.

The expression of amusement that Bill had worn the last time Dipper had seen him was gone, hardened slightly into a flat expression. There was no cocky smile or teasing eyebrow quirk. Instead he stood level, leaning on his cane and squaring off his shoulders in a stance which was firm and serious. Bill watched Dipper with an almost accusatory and unimpressed look that made Dipper feel years younger and embarrassed like a scolded child. It was like being twelve all over again and in trouble for doing something he'd been told not to.

Dipper shuffled back but the closed door kept him from getting far. He reached back, fingertips in search for the handle. They slipped on the smooth metal.

Bill's eyes remained steadily fixed on him through the reflective glass. The longer they stared at each other, the more Dipper could read in those burning eyes, finding less neutrality and only an inner anger that Dipper couldn't understand.

Bill tilted his head back as he shifted his weight from side to side. He frowned slightly. It was a subtle shift in the low light but it made Dipper shrink into himself.

“You are... far stupider than I pegged you for, eh, Bambi?” Bill finally said. His voice was flat and slow. Dipper tore his eyes from the reflection as Bill's fingers started to lazily drag over the shelf, touching the flower pots threateningly. “Very stupid actually...”

Dipper pressed his back to the door. He stood with his hand stretched behind for the doorknob, ready to run at any time.

“I act the gentleman... give you personal space,” Bill gave an airy chuckle before turning around. He looked down his nose at Dipper, an apathetic sneer curling his lips at the sides. “And then you go and almost get ya'self killed.”

Dipper's mouth dropped open and he made a small croaking noise in the back of his throat. A steady heat built in his face, almost in shame by the remark. It caused a small swirl of guilt to painfully form in his stomach, weighing him down like a rock. Dipper's whole body trembles as he tried to think of something to say or do, but he couldn't His mouth just hung open, pathetically useless.

“Now, what do you got to say about that?”

“...I don't know-”

“Like hell you 'don't know'!” Bill snapped. His voice raising suddenly in the quiet greenhouse to the point where it felt as though it shook the very structure and rattled the glass windows. Dipper closed his eyes tightly and wished he could back away, to crawl into a hole and hide.

“It was an accident,” he said in his defence. Dippers hand fisted his sweater over his chest. He glanced down at his feet. “I didn't mean to...”

“Don't lie to me!”

In that split second that Dipper looked down, Bill was there, crowding into his space. His arms closing in around him to cage him against the door. The aggressiveness that he threw his arms out hammered the door back against its frame. Dipper jumped, his own arms coming out to try and push Bill off. The small shove did next to nothing as Bill refuse to move.

“I fell!” Dipper cried out, surprised and afraid.

“You were gonna jump.”

“I didn't!” Dipper stared straight ahead, focusing on Bill's chest or shoulder, anywhere but the burning hot anger that was hardening the man's face. The cold blue of his eyes made him shake when he tried. Dipper bit his lower lip, reminding himself to keep breathing. The small sharp pain grounded him enough to control himself, to not hyperventilate or cry.

“No, you just like to casually threaten suicide to get attention,” Bill said with a sarcastically clipped tone.

Dipper frowned and shook his head. The guilt vanished, replaced with a growing denial that this was his fault. Where was Bill to care earlier when he stood out on the cliff side. So Dipper waved his own life in the man's face, indirectly hoping to blame him for his own death. He huffed on an disbelieving breath and dared a glance up at his face. Who was Bill to think it his place to scold him like a child. Who did he think he was. Dipper blinked, startled that he was taking offence. Also...

“How do you know about that?” he asked. The thought now hitting him like a semi-truck. No one had been with him on that cliff. Dipper had only been talking at Bill in his imagination, and not the real thing.

Bill raised a brow and for a moment looked like he was going to let the question slide, but his condescending attitude pressed him to speak again and berate Dipper with what he felt to be obvious.

“I can see the future, kid.” Then practically yelling, “I know everything! Always!”

Dipper raised both his hands, angrily shoving them into Bill's chest as hard as he could. He balled his fists and took a pathetic swing at him. “Then why didn't you...!”

Why didn't he stop me, Dipper thought. Why had he abandoned him only to know this would happen.

It had to all be on purpose, to toy with him. Because if it wasn't, then Dipper was honestly going crazy on his own accord, fixated on a fantasy that he couldn't justify. He was lost on an idea of Bill that he'd formed in his head. Dipper didn't even want to admit how he didn't actually know Bill at all, other than his name and face. To Dipper, he was nothing more than a stranger.

But Bill wouldn't leave him alone. He kept imposing himself into Dipper's head like they were part of each other. Like Bill was acting as if they had some deep rooted history that Dipper had never experienced and wasn't allowed to know.

“Don't even think of hitting me, kid!” Bill took up Dipper's wrist and held it tightly. “I'm the reason you made it out of that water.”

“Why!” Dipper yelled, desperate to understand. He pulled against Bills' grip.

He stared up into Bill's face trying to find some kind of explanation to why this was happening. And more importantly, why he wanted to just collapse into the arms around him and let Bill protect him from himself. Too many questions were colliding in his head that he couldn't think straight. It was making him dizzy and irrational.

“How?” Dipper managed to whimper, wincing at the small pain shooting up his arm. He tugged and twisted at his arm, burning his skin against Bill's palm. The hot pain against his skin was definitely the start to am ugly red friction burn but Dipper didn't care.

The question went ignored, as if Bill had been expecting or hoping to hear something else from him.

“You should be grateful,” he growled out as he leaned down. Bill's uneven breath ruffling Dipper's bangs as he brought their face next to each other. They were close enough that Dipper could smell the lingering scent of old cigarettes and incenses embedded in Bill's clothes like faded cologne. Dipper only shook his head, mad and refusing to give in.

“I-I don't-”

“Bullshit you don't!” Bill's free hand slapped against the glass door.

It echoed in Dipper's ear and he practically threw himself to the side to get away. The way his head connecting with the panel of glass barely registered as anything more than a light touch. Dipper whined, leaning against the door for balance. His head bobbed for a second, dots coming in and out of his vision.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he asked. Dipper whimpered, choking out a few miserable sounds of pain and confusion. He reached for the doorknob again. His fingers skimmed along the glass, trying to find the metal handle blindly. Bill's hand pinned his shoulder back to the glass, his wrist to the frame.

Dipper panicked and felt all the built up anger inside him reach a boiling point. He held his head high despite his blurred peripheral. He blinked the steaks of light from his eyes and shouted at Bill, glad that they were nose to nose so that he could spit in his face.

“No! You don't get to do this! If I wanted to jump... then... that's my choice. Not yours!”

“Yes, it is,” Bill said simply as if it were a fact.

“I don't even know you!”

For a long moment, they stood silently. The statement hanging in the air between them. Dipper panted over his angered breath, slowly calming down as he watched the expression on Bill's face crease and pull back into a low frown. It straightened his brow in a strange way that Dipper found oddly fascinating. The muscle under the skin twitching, making one eyebrow want to naturally raise while the other remained neutral. The expression was so serious, so thoughtful, like Bill was trying to mentally undo Dipper like some kind of a puzzle.

Dipper ran his eyes over the deeply etched lines, how they stood out in the low light and shadows. He traced them down to Bill's jaw and lips. He felt his mouth run dry and throat crack. They were standing so close that Dipper was positive Bill could hear how loudly his heart was beating.

If he couldn't hear it, he'd feel it. Bill's fingers dug into his wrist, pressing down on the pulse point hard. Dipper swallowed thick and heavy. The hand was so warm against his wrist, or maybe it was the pain that heated his skin. Dipper wasn't sure. Though it was distracting how small he was in comparison, how easily Bill's long fingers were able to wrapped completely around his forearm like Dipper was no bigger than a twig. Bill didn't seem quite that strong but he was sure that if he wanted to, Bill could break him.

Dipper gave his arm a small pull to test Bill's grip. The hand remained secure as it pinned him down. But slowly, they shifted, the fingers sliding up his wrist and over Dipper's palm. Bill's pressed their hands over the glass, slotting their fingers together until they were laced tight. Dipper let his short blunt nails dig into the back of Bill's hand, hoping to leave behind some form of mark that would last a long time.

Dipper brought his free arm up and held it out across Bill's chest. It was an action meant to deter them from getting any closer, a small desperate barricade that would keep Bill away. Because that's what Dipper told himself he wanted, for Bill to go away. He stiffened when the touch seemed to only encouraged him. Bill's body weight pressed forward.

Dipper felt a cheek brush over his bangs gently. He looked up through his lashes to where Bill's face was half turned and only his mouth and jaw were visible to him. The hard line of his lips were softer, parting enough to show a small hint of teeth. Dipper parted his lips instinctively, head fell back against the door.

Alarm bells were going off in his mind, warning Dipper directly that Bill was a threat, and that all this was terribly wrong. He knew full well that he should push him away now before anything could happen that he would regret later. He should be at least trying. But the feeling of Bill's warm breath ghosting over his face, sweeping across his eyelashes, made a shiver run down his spine.

It was too late for regret. Whatever happened now, good or bad, Dipper would hate himself in the morning for. Softly, Dipper spoke up, warning Bill,

“I'll scream. My uncles will... they'll come running.” Dipper licked his lips. “They'll... uhm...”

Bill tilted his head, looking down at Dipper passed his nose. Slightly distracted by the sight of Dipper's tongue poking out from behind tight lips. He let out a small chuckle. “The Buffoon and Poindexter? They'll what?”

That was where the threat ended... He knew the Bill wouldn't be deterred so easily from – Dipper didn't even know what the man wanted. He swallowed a gasp that wanted to come out, his voice straining to find anything to say. Those sharp blue eyes were trained on Dipper's mouth. Fixated on the way they moved slowly to form syllables that were meaningless. Dipper's cheeks burned, believing briefly for a second that Bill was going to kiss him.

“...Bill...” He could feel Bill exhale across his lips and his eyes fluttered, wanting to close. “Let me go.”

Dipper blinked. Bill's brow was forming that thoughtful frown as a million choices shuffling through his mind like a deck of cards. Whatever it settled on left an annoyed crease between his eyes. His lips tightened back into a thin line. The spell that had built up around them broke and Bill pulled back enough to give Dipper a hard look, eyeing him up and down, watching carefully like something was fading away. Disappointed, or simply irritated, he all but dropped Dipper where he stood and took a voluntary step back to create space between them.

Dipper didn't move. He stayed with his back glued to the door like it was the only safe place for him to be. It was hardly enough, especially when there was only a few between them. Cautious, Dipper dare look away as Bill backed up to the other end of the greenhouse. Dipper felt his knees start to shake with a weakness that must have somehow been entertaining, because Bill chuckles openly. He gathered his cane from where he left it by the shelf and balance his weight on the extra support. He smiled wide and ran a hand through his bleached hair. Dipper didn't see how this was funny and he scowled, pissed off.

“You can't just relax, yeah?” Bill teased. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat and gave a hoarse sigh.

Dipper's anger came back like a tidal wave. His face hardened and he bared his teeth like a dog. He felt completely embarrassed and used for some sick enjoyment. The idea of kissing Bill now was ruined, making him feel sick to his stomach that he had even considered letting it happen. He pulled his shoulder back and puffed up his chest. Dipper wanted to slap himself for even letting Bill touch him, then slap Bill even harder.

“I never gave you permission to be in here,” was the best he could come up with to say. “I want you to leave.”

“That's the thanks I get for saving your life?” Bill asked sweet and mocking, the sarcasm dripping through his tone like thick honey syrup.

This only infuriated Dipper more. In a big show of impulsive aggression, Dipper grabbed an empty pot from the stack on the greenhouse floor. He held it up between his hand, lifted to his shoulder, and ready to throw if necessary.

“Get out!” he demanded. Dipper was about to start yelling, to start threatening Bill with actual bodily harm if he didn't leave immediately, but that's when the small space was filled with a hard, aggressive fit of wet, gargling, coughing.

At first, Dipper couldn't even understand what was happening, how the world could shift so suddenly with a single breath. His anger plummeted and he stared, shocked, as Bill hunched at the shoulders, a hand coming up to cover his mouth to stifle the sounds of his choking coughs.

Bill's bitter expression was gone. His face screwed tightly in discomfort and almost pain. His eyes closed tight from the effort which shook his chest and lungs. Dipper wanted to reach a hand out and do something as Bill gasped for a sliver of air before letting out another string of uncontrollable coughs and noises.

All he could do was stand frozen, unsure if this was some ridiculous diversion or pause for time, something to throw Dipper off his guard. But the longer it dragged out, Dipper became more concerned by the sound of wet, hacking breaths. It reminded him sickeningly of himself as he choked and threw up lake water.

His hands trembled, fingers slipping as he lost his grip. The clay pot fell to the floor, deftly shattering into countless pieces of sharp pottery. He said Bill's name, voice heavy with worry.

Dipper was about to walk forward but Bill shot a hand out to signal for him to stop and stay where he was. Looking down, he knew why. The floor of the greenhouse was littered in small slivers of clay, pointed and sharp like broken glass, and he was barefoot. Dipper hugged himself, fingers tightly grabbing the fabric of his hoodie. It was all he could do to keep himself from breaking down and collapsing to the floor.

He watched as Bill found a breath, leaning against the shelves for support. Countless minutes passed and Dipper just kept watching him suck back mouthfuls of air. Bill groaned and cleared his throat which sounded slick and gargling. He coughed once more into his hand, wiping his mouth dry on his fingers. In the low light Bill squinted down at his fingers with distaste. Dipper couldn't see what he was looking at or why, but it looking like he was inspecting his hand before rubbing it clean on his pant leg. Bill didn't seem bothered or fazed by this.

Dipper stared, eyes wide and feeling cold from the rush of adrenaline leaving his body. He couldn't even think anymore. His mind drawing a constant blank. Nothing but white noise filled his ears. For Bill though, it seemed like the moment passed as quickly and as carelessly as it came. He didn't speak or appear bother in anyway.

He indifferently slipped a hand into the pocket and pulled out a slim metal case. The rectangular cased a shine in the light, sparking silver. Bill popped it open and produced a cigarette. He placed it between his lips before closing the case and returning it to his pocket. Bill cleared his throat ever so slightly and straightened himself to full height.

“Are you...” Dipper said quietly but couldn't quite finish the thought.

Bill cast Dipper a small glance, like he'd forgotten about him. He snorted and smiled, full of white teeth and smug condescension.

“Don't look at me like that, Doe Eyes. It'll break my poor ol'weak heart,” he said as he held the cigarette between his teeth.

Dipper didn't know how Bill could be so calm. He tugged on the collar of his hoodie, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other. He curled his toes under and rocked back and forth. He was so confused that it left him flustered and tongue tied. Dipper wanted to fold in on himself and disappear. Nothing was making sense anymore.

He wanted Bill to go aware and leave him alone, but the lingering memory of his touch was imprinted so deeply in his skin that he still felt the warm breath on his cheek. He wanted to throw himself back into Bill's arms, but simultaneously, run in the opposite direction. Dipper bit down on his lip hard and stared down at the broken piece of terracotta at his feet. Bill was some strange addictive force that was deluding his imagination and leaving him spinning from withdrawal the moment they were more than a few inches apart.

He needed to stop it all now before it got out of hand. He couldn't keep looking over his shoulder to chase shadows. In a little over a month, Dipper would be leaving. The summer would be over whether he wanted it to be or not, and he'd be going home. That meant leaving Bill behind. So, It'd be for the best.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he asked, though it wasn't entirely directed at Bill. Still, he was given an answer in a low voice, full of that familiar mirth. Dipper saw Bill's shoes come into his down turned view. The polished black looked dull in the low light. A hand came up to lift his chin. Those fingers curling under his jaw with a delicate care that rubbed his skin softly. Dipper didn't fight the touch, letting his face be guided upwards. It was so comforting and nice.

“Am I doing something to you, Bambi?”

Dipper wanted to tell him 'no' out of spite. But he was never given the chance to make such an argument, because s second later, there was suddenly a pair of lips held against his own, barely a touch but still there. It was no more than a light brush, a peck, and then it was gone. Dipper's lips tingled, finding the heat leaving too quickly. He moved after it, slightly swaying on his toes as she chased after Bill's kiss.

He was laughed at, Bill's amused chuckle hitting his ear the wrong way. Dipper bristled with embarrassment. He turned his face away, pulling it from Bill's fingers. Bill reach over despite this and brushed Dipper's bangs aside and gave the small patch of freckles on his forehead a familiar caress before stepping to the side.

Dipper didn't move, unable to follow as Bill reached around him and turned the door handle. He only heard the scattering of clay at their feet, felt the brush of their bodies pass as Bill left him standing alone in the greenhouse. His foot steps faded off in the distance and Bill quickly vanished across the yard.

Alone, Dipper stood there, blindly staring straight ahead, mouth open and breathlessly wanting to feel Bill's lips again. The pain of regret stabbed him in the chest and Dipper wished he could have returned the kiss. He hadn't even been given the chance to. He touched his mouth with his knuckles, a saddened desperate whine came from him. Dipper kissed his knuckles softly, craving substitution.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there but when Dipper finally was able to gather himself together, the crickets were loudly chirping and the stars were all out, shining brightly over head. He sighed softly, shoulders dropping. He looked down to the broken pottery at his feet. He'd sweep it up tomorrow, Dipper decided, stepping safely into the grass.

The porch creaked as the screen door slammed shut. Looking back, he saw the light had been switch on with Mabel standing beneath it. She looked happy with her hands behind her back. He gave her a small wave, not sure why she'd come out to look for him now. However, she did, skipping down the porch steps and through the grass. He long hair bobbed and tossed in thick waves and curls as she jumped to a stop by his side.

“Hey, bro-oh no! You made a mess,” she said as she saw the broken clay all over the ground. She stuck out her tongue and kicked at the clay dust with the toe of her shoe.

“...yeah... I dropped a pot,” he replied, gesturing to the broken pieces. “I'll clean it up tomorrow when...uhm... when I'm wearing shoes.”

“Okay!”

Dipper fumbled with his sleeves and was about to ask Mabel if she would turn the light off inside the greenhouse for him, when she spun to face him fully and smiled. It was a big happy smile that made her eyes sparkle with excitement. Her hands stayed safely behind her back and she gave a small wiggling happy dance.

“Guess what?” she didn't wait for him to answer. “I know you've been upset lately. All mopey and sad faced. So, I wanted to do something to make you feel better. I know, I'm amazing. Feel free to thank me as much as you want.”

She looked awfully proud of herself with her smile reaching from ear to ear. Without a second thought she threw out her hands to him, her gifted held between them in a show of love and pride. Dipper jumped a bit in surprise but looked at her and what she'd made him.

“Ta-da! I made you a present!”

Dipper's eyes softened and he let himself smile back at her. It was a kind gesture, one he genuinely appreciated and found sweet. She pressed it into his hands happily waiting for him to take it. He held it out in front of him. It was a dream catcher. It was made of a thin hoop, formed from bent branches and bound in thick white yarn. Mable had even taken the time to weave crystal prisms throughout the internal pattern, tying them off in the knotted macromay netting. It was honestly very nice of her and Dipper couldn't help but feel a little better.

“Thank you,” he said as he ran a finger around the hoop. “It's really nice.”

“Really? You think so? I'm so happy you like it!” She squealed loudly, excited over making him smile. Even Dipper felt like it'd been a while since such an expression crossed his face. Over doing herself as always, she made a wide gesture at the greenhouse. “I could make your greenhouse wind chimes too. Or! Or a light catcher.”

“No,” Dipper said quickly to stop her before she got carried away. “No, thank you, Mabel. This is plenty.”

She bounced on her toes, clearly pleased by the way Dipper held the dream catcher to his chest. “You're welcome.”

“I'll hang it up before bed.”

Dipper smiled, looking up from his dream catcher briefly to glance across the empty yard. The breeze rustled the grass but other than that, there was no movement or anything to see. A part of him had hoped Bill would still be there, looming ominously among the trees, checking on him to make sure he got inside. However, there was nothing but the thick under growth of tall grass and low branches. Dipper's heart sank in his chest.

“What ya looking at?” Mabel asked, leaning over to follow his eye toward the trees.

“Nothing...” Dipper said firmly with resolve. “Can you get the light before we go in?”

“Sure thing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy late birthday to myself and any other end of January babies! Happy early Valentines Day to everyone! Let's all enjoy a mildly selfish indulgent chapter of confusing sexual tension!


	10. Chapter 10

Dipper laid his head down on the counter, groaning low at the back of his throat. At least no one was around to hear his pathetic whining. He was so tired. His eyes kept threatening to drift close, not wanting to open again each time he blinked. The hard wood of the counter top was warm from the sunspot coming in through the window. It didn't help. If anything it was making him feel over heated and all the more drowsy.

The gift shop was too quiet. No other person had been in to shop for almost an hour. So the only sound keeping Dipper from completely falling asleep on the job was the quiet noise coming from the radio behind him.

He didn't sleep much last night. Not after everything. He couldn't. Besides the pain which still throbbed through the back of his head, Dipper had been too scared. He was positive that he had a concussion. He knew you weren't suppose to sleep with a head injury. There could be internal bleeding, and that was a terrifying thought. He could slip into a coma or something and die.

To be fair, he could be dead now. He could still feel the pressure of the water in his lungs and it scared him more. In desperation at two a.m, he'd looked up on his phone what to do for a concussion that didn't involve going to a hospital. There wasn't much he could do besides rest, which felt impossible. So frustrated and paranoid, Dipper laid in bed all night staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the bruised pulse of his muscles.

Ignoring the pain came easily when he thoughts of death flooded his mind to the point where it made him actually cry in relief, grateful that he hadn't drowned in the lake. Somehow, he had Bill to thank for that. Not that he was sure how. Dipper was still angry with him, their conversation coming back to him in stressful, chopped up pieces that he couldn't remember properly. _'I know everything! Always!'_ rang through his head, the one sure thing he knew. Dipper hoped it was true and the Bill knew he as flipping him off in the dark of his bedroom because he couldn't sleep.

Being thankful to that man was a lot harder than it should be. He still creeped Dipper out and made his skin itch like a rash. But at the same time, when he laid back and closed his eyes, Dipper could feel the aggressively possessive hands holding him still. If he were in his right mind, he would deny the flutter in his chest or the blush that came to his cheeks when he remembered leaning into the touch for more.

But he wasn't in his right mind, not entirely, and it made Dipper want to bang his head down on the counter to silence the mental images that kept coming back to him in waves. The large second mouth inked into a predatory smile full of sharp teeth. Dipper turned his face into the counter to block out the sunshine. He let out a long breath and slowly breathed back in. He felt so close to screaming that he considered himself blessed that it was such a quiet day, sparse of any tourists coming in and out of the gift shop.

It was then that the door to the shop opened with force. The bells above the door swinging and clanging together from the sudden hit. He internally swore, barely finding the energy to lift his head. Peering out through his bangs, Dipper let out a happy sigh at who he saw standing in the doorway. Relieved, he let his head fall to the side and watched Wendy come in, two hours late for her shift and looking no much less of a mess than Dipper was. He could have laughed, if it didn't hurt.

“Soos is going to have to hose down the parking lot,” Wendy said loudly. She slipped the pair of sunglasses she'd been wearing off her face and tucked them safely on top of her head. “I just threw up outside.”

Lazily she pushed off the door frame, letting the door close on its own. Her feet dragged as she walked over, the soles of her sneakers occasionally squeaking against the floor boards. It must have been a long night for her, Dipper recognized the outfit as the same one she'd been wearing the previous morning when they worked together. It was only more dishevelled. Her light flannel was tied about her hips, practically covering up her ripped jean shorts, and her black tank top looked stiff like something had been spilled on it at some point. Her red hair was maybe nicely knotted in a braid but it was now loose, falling out and frizzy with the summer humidity.

Dipper scrunched his nosed. He could smell the lingering scent of weed coming off her from across the room, getting stronger as she walked over to join him behind the counter. Wendy sat down in her usual chair, leaning back and groaning long and loud. She gave one look at Dipper and said,

“Fuck,” her voice was a little hoarse from being dry. “You look worse than me.”

He didn't know if that was exactly true but he snorted with a forced laugh anyway. Dipper was aware he probably looked like hell with his constantly messy hair and dark circles. But lack of sleep does that and Dipper was use to his appearance being painfully average on a good day. Refusing to lift his head from where it lay limp on the counter top, he just adjusted himself to look in her direction.

“I believe that,” he said back. Then after a short pause, “...late night?”

Wendy grumbled and moaned as she rubbed at her eyes. There was a small sound of confirmation in the way she whined, mixed together with deep self hatred and regret. There was a lot in that small sound. She reclined in the old chair, pulling her feet up onto the counter by Dipper's head. Normally he'd find himself blushing at such a view of her long pale legs but Dipper felt unbelievably numb to it.

“What about you? You hungover too or something?” she asked with a curious smile that hid her own discomfort. Her hands stayed up, shielding her eyes from the light.

“Or something...” Dipper curled an arm up under his head to use as a pillow. It was a little softer than the hard wood of the counter. “It's just a headache... I'm fine.”

Wendy covered her eyes with a forearm and mumbled something about it being too bright in the gift shop. It was with the sunlight streaming in through the windows at their backs, but the old florescent lights overhead were quite a bit more dim than the direct sun of outside. There was a fan blowing the stale air about the room, helping to cut through the stifling heat. Dipper was convinced he'd pass out if it got any hotter. He could feel the way his bangs clung to his face in chunks of damp strands, wet from his sweat.

He ran a thumb over his brow, but abruptly froze as his nail lightly grazed the patch of freckles that marked up his forehead. The small pattern was always hidden under his bangs, so much so that no one really knew about his stupid birthmark besides family and old friends. He didn't like that Bill had touches them with such familiarity, like he'd seen them a hundred times already. Dipper dropped his hand away from his face, not happy.

“I feel like I could go die in a hole...” Wendy complained, thankfully bringing Dipper out of his thoughts.

He didn't want to dwell on them. If that happened he was bound to start overthinking and fixating on the smallest detailed which would ultimately be meaningless. He did that a lot, anxiously overthinking every small aspect of a situation and trying to reason out his own behaviour on top of everyone else. It was going to drive him crazy. The problem was, he didn't understand Bill and that bothered him.

Dipper forced the thought aside and smiled a little to hide his feelings.

“Rough time last night?” he asked with a small teasing tone.

“Wasn't suppose to be,” she said, irritated. She rolled her eyes at her own thoughts before a grumpy expression crossed her face. Pushing her hair back, Wendy started in on the whole story, perfectly alright with the gossip. “Robbie ended up killing the vibe real quick... We were out on the old farm road right?-”

Dipper hummed but didn't interrupt, letting her rant and talk. Every so often he offered another sound to show he was listening.

“Fuck! The more he drinks the more he gets all _whiny_ and _clingy_...” she continued, her voice getting mocking and mean.

Dipper wanted to laugh because he couldn't picture Robbie as anything other than a douche bag who acted tough in order to look cool. He made a face trying to picture it but found it a little tricky. Wendy didn't seem to notice the little amused smirk because she was frowning, her face crinkled with distaste and annoyance. Dipper's own smirk faltered slightly. He didn't like the guy but he was starting to get the impression by looking at Wendy that he should feel a bit bad for him.

“I was having a blast, riding high, then he started going on about 'our future' and me graduating, and _us_.” She groaned and made little sarcastic quotations marks with her fingers. She clicked her tongue in dismissal. “I don't have plans passed this weekend, let alone any big... future.... Plans! Like, dude, what does he want me to say? Sure, there's an 'us'... Right now. Do I know where we'll be in six months or a year from now? No. A lot can happen, you know? We meet people. Shit happens.”

Geez, Dipper could really feel the love in their relationship. He bit his lip and wondered to himself if this was usually what dating was like. He didn't have a lot of experience with dates besides a school dance or movie which included a quick kiss in the dark theatre. But nothing ever came from those awkwardly held conversations and teenage hand holding. Honestly, the idea of going on a date with someone made his hands sweaty anyhow.

“But do I say any of that? No! He would have started crying-” She gave a short laugh and lolled her head back to groan over her hangover. “Yeah-no. I had to shove him into the backseat of his car just to shut him up.”

Dipper turned his face into his arm. He didn't want to hear this part. A small jealousy pain stabbed him in the chest like a splinter, deep and angry with infected irritation. The lingering crush he felt towards Wendy bristled defensively as she talked about giving her current boyfriend a pity blowjob while drunk, half in public, like it was nothing at all. Not that Dipper wanted it to be himself instead of Robbie. He didn't want that kind of half assed attention, being looked at as some kind of temporary distraction. At the same time it wasn't like he was planning a wedding but he didn't see the point of 'good enough' or 'for now'.

Although...

There was a small sliver thin excitement that came from fantasizing about a quickie with someone you were into or dating. Dipper obviously hadn't the experience of a real backseat grope fest, or other below the belt fun. But as he blocked out Wendy's far too descriptive comments, he found his own mind wandering in to a similar scenario. However in Dipper's head, he wasn't thinking about Wendy or any other girl wrapping a leg around his shoulders. Instead it was an inelegant, cramped scene that was probably too unrealistic for the long legs of his partner and himself, trying to stuff together in a car's narrow backseat with Dipper weirdly bent over their lap or crouched on the floor. A leg probably stretching between the front seats out of necessity because they couldn't be bent wide enough.

The logistics were laughable, but Dipper couldn't help but smirk and blush over his partly formed daydream. He pressed further into his arm to hide the redness of his face. He'd never given someone head before. The only frame of reference he had was what he'd watched in porn. And porn was all fake, so who knows how well that would go over. Honestly, he was sure he'd never get a dick in his throat without setting off his gag reflex. It'd lead to a very unflattering mess.

Still, he'd be more than willing to try. Enthusiastic to learn, if his partner was equally as encouraging. And in Dipper's fantasy, he was pretty good at it. At least the imaginary hands that were tightly threading through his hair suggested he was, tugging at fistfuls of curls and pushing his head down.

“He squeals like a girl when he cums.”

Dipped involuntarily choked on his own spit. That took him out of his pleasant daydream with way more information than he ever needed to hear. He never need to know that about Robbie...

“Gross...” Dipper whined, sticking his tongue out at her.

Wendy laughed louder, finding it all too funny.

Dipper pouted to himself as he propped his chin on the back of his hands. He let out a long sigh and let his eyes close. His daydream was fading fast, the hands in his hair, the weight on his tongue. Dipper dragged his teeth over his lower lip in a slow pull. The gentle touched made him miss the hot press of lips to his own, as quick and as fleeting, to the point where he could easily convince himself he'd made it up in his head.

Maybe it was all in his head and Bill was messing with his mind. He blinked a few times, looking around the gift shop blankly. No, this was too unbelievably dull to be a hallucination or dream. He huffed out small laugh and blew at a single strand of hair that was hanging in front of his face.

“Hey, Wendy...” he started quiet, not entirely sure if he wanted to open this can of worms with anyone, but there he was. Dipper fidgeted in his seat, drawing little patterns into the counter top with a finger tip. He wasn't sure how to phase what was going on in his head, but it all boiled down to... “How can you tell... How do you know if a guy – or someone – is into you?”

The second it came out of his mouth he regretted it. He scrunched his nose, feeling like a complete loser. His cheeks burned a bright shade of red and he forced his eyes forward across the room, fixated on a shelf of spell jars, all neatly aligned in their plastic bottles and hand written labels. Beside him Wendy made a confused sound as she considered him and the out of the blue question. She thought about it for a second before saying anything, and Dipper dreaded her answer. He didn't want to hear it.

“They'll hit on you relentlessly.” She sounded confident in this fact, possibly from passed experience or expectation.

Dipper looked at her and watched her get all smug over her own thoughts. She smiled through her headache and crossed her arms. He could guess how often she got hit on, at work or at school. Wendy was too cool not to impress people. She acted to aloof and above everything. Dipper wished he could be so detached sometimes, as to not live his life afraid of his own thoughts.

“How do you know someone's hitting on you?”

Dipper tried not to seem too obvious by asking, but he couldn't stop himself from thinking of Bill. His stalking was pretty damn relentless, extending to trespassing and aggressively forcing his way into Dipper's personal space. Did that mean Bill liked him or was flirting? Or did Bill just want something from him?

Wendy looked at him a long while. Her smile changed drastically from something self-assured to open and joking. She reached out and poked Dipper in the shoulder. She gushed at him.

“Awww! Dipper~ Was someone flirting with you before I got here? Wish I could have seen that!”

He shook his head. “No, it's not like that...”

“Yeah it was! And you didn't notice!” She laughed louder and knocked him in the shoulder with a full fist. “Dude, that blows.”

“It wasn't... never mind.” She nudged at him, too amused to stop. It was starting to rock him in his seat and Dipper whined for her to stop. “Please, stop... you're going to make me sea sick.”

Wendy seemed to now suddenly remember her own hangover, running her hands over her face and groan. Her laughing fit had brought out the sick pink to her face and she looked sweatier though it might just be the heavy air of the gift shop. She rubbed at her puffy eyes and sighed.

“Can't you just, I don't know, fix this?” She asked, vaguely indicating to her face. Dipper looked at her and picked up on what she meant. Technically, yes, provided it was a simple hangover and nothing too sensitive. A few well chosen ingredients and he could make her feel a lot better.

Himself, not quiet as much. He wasn't exactly sure how to cure a concussion with magic, or if he even could. Medical science had a hard enough time easing brain swelling and bleeding. He wasn't about to play guinea pig to try and ease whatever was going on in his own head. Though brain damage would explain why he was acting so delusional and obsessed over a stranger that had a funny way of getting under his skin.

“Well, I could,” Dipper started.

She held her hand out and wiggled her fingers. “Can you just, like, snap and make me feel better? Cuz, that'd be great.”

“That's not exactly how that work...”

“Come on,” she urged.

“Magic doesn't work like that. I'm not a stage magician,” he wasn't offended just tired and annoyed. “You need a staring point to work off of-”

“Yeah, yeah, kay, fine...” she whined and rubbed her temples. “Soooo, you're not going to help out?”

“Not now.” He stuck his tongue out at her.

Wendy huffed and rolled her eyes. “I'll just down a painkiller and some coffee.”

He gave a small genuine laugh.

By the time Dipper got off work, he was feeling a little better. Possibly because he'd become use to the feeling of vertigo and less because his headache hurt any less. There was still a soreness to his neck but it was getting easier to ignore the longer the day went on. As Dipper shut the lights off in the gift shop, he was in better spirits. He could hold himself up without feel so top heavy and tired, and he was actually starting to feel his appetite coming back. Maybe talking to Wendy helped him after all.

He still felt distracted, lost in the jumble of thoughts uncontrollably spiraling through his head. At this rate he was going to end up buried in a crater of depression and self pity. Dipper ruffled his hair trying to shake the thoughts from his brain.

He blamed Bill of course. The most he was willing to take responsibility for was his tendency to obsess over something troubling him. And by this point, Dipper hadn't been able to think of anything but Bill in days, the man consuming his thought like the some kind of co-dependant leach. He wanted to scream. But he was also hungry and wandered down the hall toward the kitchen for a snack, ignoring how his brain didn't want to shut up.

Too lost in thought, Dipper walked vacantly forward with his head turned down. At his slow shuffle of a walk, he thankfully only managed to run into his uncle at very gentle bump. He jumped slightly not noticing how Stan was blocking his path through the kitchen. A large hand came to rest on his shoulder to help steady his balance.

The way Stan's brow scrunched behind the thick rim of his glasses was odd to Dipper. It was so intense and screwed, so far off from his usual bored expression or wide grin as he cracked himself up by his own jokes. There hadn't been an opportunity to see him so worried and it took Dipper by surprise.

It wasn't like he came running through the room in a blind panic or anything. Dipper couldn't quite understand the expression being turned on him. He apologized and went to step aside but the hand on his shoulder held a fraction tighter, keeping him still. A sudden chill ran down Dipper spine. He was about to say something but was abruptly handed a mostly empty can of beer and stirred toward the back door.

“Spare a minute, kid?” Stan said as he grabbed himself a new can from the fridge. It didn't sound like Dipper was being given an choice in the matter.

“Uh... sure?”

Together they went out onto the back porch. Dipper was directed towards a lawn chair and told to sit. He felt like he was in trouble for something, even though Dipper couldn't think of anything that he could have done. But with his uncle's expression and the way he sat down opposite him on the porch, he couldn't help but think he was about to be lectured for something. Dipper awkwardly fidgeted in the lawn chair. The old metal creaked, threatening to collapse as the rickety joints stressed under his weight.

Dipper quietly looked between Stan and the held empty beer can which he held between his hands. He didn't want to drink it really, but the can was cold and damp with condensation, and he was surprisingly, and very suddenly, thirsty. He took a small sip and gagged, almost spitting it out entirely. It tasted stale, a mixture of excessively hoppy beer and old backwash from cigarettes. Dipper immediately set the can at his feet with absolutely no intention of finishing it off.

Stan looked a little hesitant, tapping his fingers against his beer can as he remained quiet. Whatever was going through his head left a puzzled look on his face, like he was trying to find the right words before he tried to say anything. It made the space between the two feel miles wide and dead with distance static.

Dipper bit his lip and looked out over the yard, anywhere but his uncle as they sat, not talking. They stayed this way for a lot longer than Dipper was hoping. The quiet was weighing on him, as if it actually made the air heavier and thick. His foot started to bounce, uncomfortable and uncontrollable. He puffed up his cheeks and sighed audibly to break the silence.

“Well... This was fun.” Dipper clicked his tongue and made a move to get up but Stan pointed a finger at him and motioned for him to stay sitting.

Dipper deflated into the chair, stretching out his legs and leaning back as if he could be relaxed. It was next to impossible though with the way his uncle was staring back at him.

“What's gotten into you lately?” Stan finally asked. His gruff voice sounding a fraction too accusatory. The slight implication made the hair on Dipper's neck tingle as he tensed at the shoulders.

Dipper wasn't sure of what Stan was getting at, but he didn't like it.

Stan's face hardened again back into something that was serious yet annoyed. Dipper didn't want to look him in the eye, feeling suddenly defensive.

“Nothing,” he said simply. His fingers started to pick at the arm rest of the lawn chair. The old chipping paint came off in chunks under his nails.

“That's a bull shit lie,” Stan said before taking a long drink of his beer.

Dipper snorted out an laugh and readjusted how he sat. “It's nothing,” he said again, firmer this time. His voice didn't stutter quite as much as he stressed this. He felt cornered, the need to run growing with every second.

“Are you doing drugs with Wendy and her friends?”

“What?” Dipper's voice broke it went so high. That was fucking random. He stared at his uncle like he grew a second head.

“Because I swear to God kid... Look, I get it. I was young once too. Although it was the seventies, and everyone was doing drugs so-”

Dipper dug his nails into the tops of his thighs, trying to not let his temper flair higher. He shook his head and let his uncle rant before he could even get a word in. This was ridiculous. Irritated and man, Dipper tried to cut in but Stan wasn't listening to him. Wherever Stan got this stupid idea from... Dipper stood up abruptly, sending the lawn chair sliding back across the wood floor boards. The metal legs scraped loudly.

“Uncle Stan, you aren't serious. This is stupid,” he practically shouted.

“You want to explain it to me then, Dipper?”

Defensively he stood his ground, fists tightly balled at his sides. He turned slightly and looked out across the yard, distracted and spacey, wishing he could come up with a better explanation than the truth. The truth sounded crazy. Stan would either think he's lying or lose his shit. Dipper was sure of it. His uncle didn't come cross as the type of guy to take bad news in strides, more prone to flying off the handle for no reason.

Dipper could see it now. Standing there and telling Stan what was really going on...

'Hey Stan. There's this guy', his brain supplied for his imaginary conversation. 'You probably know him, works in town. Anyway, he's been stalking me since the beginning of summer! It's super creepy and he's a total weirdo!'

Dipper's face went bright red with embarrassment and anger. He made dropped his hand at his side, defeated. 'And I've been in no way dreaming about him or anything.'

Stan was patiently waiting for him to say something.

'Oh! And he's been coming into the yard at night. Hope that's cool.'

Not even mentioning the awkward kiss. Or the way Dipper was starting to find Bill more and more attractive. Dipper groaned. No one needed to know about that.

Non of this would sound good out loud. Stan being pissed would probably be a good reaction. Murder would be over reacting but Dipper hoped his uncle wouldn't be that excessive. Dipper bit his lip hard and wished he could disappear.

“Well?” Stan asked, starting to sound not so patient any longer.

“I'm not doing drugs!” Dipper snapped. He may have actually yelled that because everything fell into such a still quiet. Stan said nothing at first, watching him shuffle from one foot to the other.

Before Stan could say anything more, his mouth moving to at least try, the screen door quickly swung open. Dipper turned to see Ford stepping outside to join them, clearly drawn by the raised voices and verging argument. He looked as serious as always, lightly frowning at his brother in his generally superior fashion, but with a slight soften to his eyes that suggested he meant well. Ford must have come running when Dipper shouted because his face was a hot pink, puffed up from the sudden excitement. He gave him a sympathetic expression and sighed.

“Stan, don't hound the boy,” he said. “Dipper telling the truth.”

“Thank you...” Dipper said, quieter but no less frustrated. His words overlapped with Stan, who decided to speak up at the same time, saying,

“Of course you'd say that.”

Ford waved it off again. “It's a little more serious than that, I believe.”

“Right.” It was Stan's turn to get defensive. “You and your magic just knowing fucking everything.”

“Stanley, please, don't be a child. This isn't about you.”

Ford stepped closer to Dipper, trying to show a supportive gesture by gently reaching out to touch his shoulder. Reflexively, his walls went up, and Dipper pulled away the second his uncle's fingers grazed his shirt. He visibly flinched back out of reach, leaving Ford's and hanging mid air. The gentle weight was not comforting or welcome as it should be and Dipper stared at the outstretched fingers like they were going to burn him. Ford too looked between his own hand and his nephew, a suspicious look in his eye.

“I think,” Ford continued in a steady tone, not showing his uncertainty. “That Dipper is under a spell.”

“What?” Dipper yelled. It was like being punched in the gut. How could Ford say that.

“You've got to be kidding me,” Stan said, unconvinced.

“No, it's perfectly reasonable, and explains more than his strange behaviours. Dipper?”

Dipper bristled at the suggestion. The thought passed through his mind quickly, only to be extinguished as easily as a candle. He refuse the possibilities immediately without question. Despite the obvious signs which he could see: the constant lingering thought, the inexplicable impulses, the disruption of his sleep. Dipper shook his head and frowned, an anger raising in his chest. His uncles were looking at him in judgmental silence.

Dipper wanted to yell and deny anything they could say but he held his tongue. His body vibrated with tension.

Ford saw the shift in stance, the altered energy that darkened Dipper's aura. He risked a step forward, saying his nephew's given name in a caring tone, something soft that should have been loving and light. It only sounded like sandpaper to Dipper, rough and grating. He threw his hands up to block Ford from getting closer.

“You're wrong,” Dipper said, more to convince himself than his uncles. He said it like he had something to prove and to justify. “You don't know what you're talking about!”

Without warning Dipper ran for the door, dodging the way Ford's arm reach out for him. Stan jumped in his chair, startled by Dipper running by. The screen door was thrown open, the wood frame hitting the siding with a loud bang. Dipper left his uncles on the back porch. He could hear them calling to him, yelling his name as he climbed the stairs two at a time. From the floor below, he could hear them following, their feet on the hardwood floor and the creak of the banister. He didn't care though. He ran to the attic, slamming the door behind him, locking the handle.

Dipper fell against the door, hands firmly around the doorknob to remind himself it was locked and safe. He pressed his face into the wood and closed his eyes. The wood was sturdy and solid. It grounded him enough for Dipper to find a full breath. He told himself that everything was fine, perfectly fine, absolutely, completely, obviously fine. Through the door he could hear his uncles arguing as they stopped outside. Ford kept talking over Stan who only wanted to yell.

Everything was not fine...

“Go away!” Dipper told them, pulling himself from the door.

He paced the small room frantically. His hands found his shirt, his hair, the empty space around him, and they pulled or tugged at whatever they touched. His nails scratched over the back of his neck, threatening to dig in and break the skin. They left behind long red lines over his pale sweating skin that stung with irritation. He could still hear them in the hallway.

“Shut up!” he repeated it over and over, getting quieter as he did. “Shut up... shut up... shut up...”

Dipper swore softly under his breath. He didn't want to think that Ford might be right. But his uncle's words nagged at his brain, circling around like a broken record. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the world around him, hands clamping over his ears tightly. Dipper shook his head until he felt dizzy from the panicked adrenaline rush.

It was the opposite of how he felt last night in the greenhouse. So different from the airy confusion of being so close to Bill, being crowded up against the door. It had been so tempting and easy to slip into that touch, how it pulled the fight out of him. There was something in that possessive grip that was almost safe, if a little frightening.

Dipper swore louder. He wanted to scream. Blinking and doing another once around his room, he decided to help himself. He may not want to believe Ford, but he could begrudgingly prove himself right or wrong. Dipper swallowed his denial and went to the dresser, oping drawers for a few things. With trembling hands he gather a white candle, a small metal incense holder and a incense stick to go in it. He grumbled low, thinking this would work far better with a smudge stick but he wasn't about to go out to the greenhouse for dried herbs. Setting everything up he found a box of matches, old school wood ones, even though he had a lighter in his book bag.

He struck the first match. The thin wood snapped between his tight fingers. The second wouldn't light. Dipper was on the verge of frustrated tears before a match finally lit. He lit the candle first, then the incense stick. He blew at the incense, sending a thick stream of smoke into the air. The smell of warm clove burst forth. The smell was immediately calming. Dipper took a long breath in and eased himself to the floor, blood rushing to his feet. A small tear crept down his cheek, partly sad but more of a response to the stress and fear. He wiped it away with his palm.

Dipper stayed huddled on the floor, taking long, deep breaths of clove. It was so bright and crisp, chasing away the negative thoughts which fogged his head. It was like waking up from an uncomfortable nap. Dipper could finally think clearer than he had in days. The feeling should have been a comfort, but it only settled the cold sense of dread into his gut.

Dipper's restless fingers inched along his collar, nails desperately clawing at his neck. Little scratched he barely noticed were left behind. Occasionally his fingers snagged on his shirt collar, tugging at it when it got in the way. One finger hooked onto his necklace. The smooth cord an immediate interest to his fidgeting and Dipper pulled it from under his shirt to pull on. He played with the crystal at the end, batting at it and picking at the knots which held it in place.

As the smell of clove purified his room, Dipper's anxiety started to slowly go down. The tension in his muscles lessened and he relaxed slowly. It left his blood feeling like cold congealed sludge in his veins, a hollow emptiness in his chest where his heart should be. Dipper sniffled, trying to rid himself of tears that came to his eyes. He didn't need to cry, but they still watered like he was about to burst into a fit of pathetic sobbing.

Across his room, Dipper could hear the light wind outside as it blew over the storm drain and loose shingles. It sent a few birds sailing off the roof, chirping as they were rustled from their perch. He could hear, though distant, the bright chime of bells. Bells which gave a silvery jingle as the wind came by lazily. Bells which protected the house from spells and curses. Suppose to protect them. Dipper scoffed, wanting to go downstairs and chuck the useless things across the yard. What did they even need protection from. There hadn't been anything around town that screamed danger. Not even Bill. Not really, when Dipper thought about it.

In some delusional way Bill hadn't hurt necessarily him. And arguably speaking, Ford's bells hadn't done much to keep out Bill's influence out of Dipper's head. Dipper pouted, thumbing the crystal at the end of his necklace.

With a clearer head, Dipper could see why his uncles thought that he was under some strange spell. His own behaviour lately had been erratic and all over the place. He'd run off more than once, mixed with a bizarre case of sleepwalking and weird dreams. At least they didn't think he was crazy. But, what would happen now? Were they going to send him home early? Or was Ford going to try and break whatever spell he believed Dipper was under...

The thought of being without Bill was more scary than the thought of being hexed. The emptiness in his chest lingered and throbbed like his heart had been broken. Was this how he'd feel all the time without Bill's presence, this crushing loneliness that made him feel hollow?

Dipper didn't even know the man but he felt like he needed him just as badly as oxygen. He was running the risk of becoming grossly obsessed, needing to see Bill's shadow in the corners of his room and hear that soft voice in his head. He felt like he'd die without it.

Dipper gripped his necklace tightly and jumped to his feet. He could feel the blood pump through his ears as he moved around in the blind panic. He blew out the candle on the dresser, through open his window to let out the incense smoke.

He grabbed for the pack of matches with greedy fingers, pulling out almost half the pack until his palm was full of match sticks. With those in hand Dipper rummaged around in his book bag until he found a pen. He uncapped it with his teeth and started writing on each match stick with the utmost care to print each letter clearly. Each word represented a single wish, one he poured his whole heart into as he made his way through the small pile of wood sticks.

Dipper took a deep breath and started striking each match, placing them in a pile one by one in the incense holder to burn down. The flames flared and smoke rose as the wood burned. Dipper watched as the small pile was eaten up by fire. His heart fluttered as he watched Bill's name turn to ash over and over, wishing that they could be bound together forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about spelling. I edited this while tired.
> 
> Here's some random Timothee Chalamet pictures radiating some Dipper energy.  
> [link 1](https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/112097478213036065/)   
> [link 2](https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/645914771551973791/)  
> [link 3](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/c6/f7/f7/c6f7f7c02ad727a7fe269c174c7ea213.gif)
> 
> [Chapter 9](https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/484840716108146783/) Green House Inpso
> 
> Match Stick Spell Reference. [link](http://www.pennilesspagan.com/2018/06/matchstick-spell.html) I didn't follow it completely as the directions say, so don't go by my writing. My apologies.


End file.
